


We Are Stardust

by White_Rabbits_Clock



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alpha Natasha, Alpha Steve, Alpha Thor, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Pepper Potts, BAMF Tony Stark, F/F, Gen, M/M, Multi, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Omega Bucky - Freeform, Omega Tony, Packs, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Vision - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 62,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rabbits_Clock/pseuds/White_Rabbits_Clock
Summary: Three months after the Civil War, Tony Stark is kidnapped, sparking the return of the Avengers. Six months later, he's descending through the atmosphere, alone and half mad, in a small ship. He's got hair down to mid thigh, tattoos on both arms, and more scars than anyone remembers there being before.He's not the omega anyone remembers, and he's got a plan. After all: the end is coming.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, let's get started! there's twenty eight chapters, and all but the last three or four are written, so I'll try to get this up regularly, schedules willing. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings apply to specific chapters, and I will leave a note in the beginning and a summary at the end for each. Enjoy!

July 24th, 2017

 

They look good together, Natasha Romanov and Steve Rogers. She’s in a pantsuit type thing, the blouse silky and soft. It gives her an air of almost innocence. He’s dressed the way he’s always dressed- khakis and a dark blue polo, matching watch shining on one wrist. They sit together on the low, curving sectional, almost relaxed. They look like they are together, despite them both being alphas.

The sectional curves all the way around in a deep U shape. Behind them, a few artfully placed plants make the blank space appear filled. They take up space around the the phrase  _ The Bugle Beat _ . The interviewer is a blonde. She has a small notepad that she writes on strikingly little for the amount of questions she asks. She has a pen in one hand that she more uses to gesture than to take notes.

“A lot of people- and this isn’t my opinion, per say, but it is a popular one- but a lot of people think you have something to do with Mr. Stark’s disappearance,” the blonde says. Steve gives a thin smile that communicates anything but happiness.

“We don’t have anything to do with Tony’s disappearance. If we did, we wouldn’t be back here.” Blondie tilts her head to one side, almost coy. 

“All that your presence requires is for him to be gone. Any set of circumstances could make that happen,” she says. _ Including you making him disappear _ , is what she doesn’t say.

“We’ve had our fights and our differences,” Steve says with another one of those smiles, “but none of us would kidnap him just so we could come home.” and maybe that choice of word is a bad idea.

“Some people would do anything to get back home,” Blondie says. “Besides, Mr. Rogers, it’s already been shown that you have no problem lying to Mr. Stark. People who have worked with you all say that you also have no problem making his home unsafe.” 

“I am not sure which people you are referring to, but that isn’t the case,” Steve says. Natasha is wondering if Blondie (Christine Everhart; longtime anti-Starker) is still against her long-time enemy.

“I am referring to the video feed from Mr. Stark’s lab in which he was picked up by his neck and you, as team leader, did absolutely nothing to address that.”

“That was in the heat of the moment, and it wasn’t something that was repeated.”

“But was it ever addressed?” Everhart asks. Her eyebrow cocks a bit when Steve hesitates.

“No, it got lost in translation, since we were in the middle of dealing with Stark’s man made apocalypse.”

“Mr. Stark was cleared by three different independent agencies; he and Doctor Banner did not create Ultron,” Everhart says.

“We didn’t know that at the time.” Natasha responds. 

“So every single person in that room jumped to conclusions that resulted in your teammate being lifted off the ground by his neck by a man he cannot physically defend himself against and no one addressed that,” Everhart says. It sounds like a guilty verdict. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Steve begins, but he isn’t prepared for Christine Everhart. He isn’t prepared for ANY media person. This is a whole other world, where everyone speaks a language he can’t quite grasp. This was always Tony’s area.

“What was it like? By your own admission no one addressed Mr. Odinson’s actions, and by Miss Romanoff’s admission, it was done at a time when no one had all the information,” Everhart says, and god, she’s on a warpath. 

“It was emotional,” Natasha butts in again before Steve can say something stupid about Tony  _ always _ making mistakes and being reckless. “And it was wrong. Ultron aside, we still didn’t have anything to do with Mr. Stark’s disappearance.” And there’s the Natasha that the team knows; controlling the conversation like a pro.

“But you understand, though, why a lot of people would think that.”

“Yes, but this team has learned the hard way where assumptions get us, and we won’t be addressing them without the full story again.” 


	2. Touchdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Bucky meet one dark night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out update days are friday.

Stark is back, and he’s...strange. Stranger, really. Or at least, that’s what James thinks at three in the morning, when he can’t sleep, and is walking the halls of the compound like it’s many ghosts. His steps are quiet, so Stark doesn’t hear him coming anymore than he realizes that the person in the kitchen isn’t the everrestless Vision, or Natalia, or anyone who’s still sane.

It’s Stark, and he’s sitting there on the island in the middle of the kitchen, a full gallon tub of ice cream bracketed by his canvas harem style pants. He’s eating it a spoonful at a time. He doesn’t stop when Bucky appears, just fixes him with one of his looks. It’s the one with no emotion. Right after this expression, there’s often an emotion that’s like explosive heat whose temperature is so hot that it could burn through all twelve of the floors the Vision was put through nine months ago. 

James likes neither look.

He wishes he knew what to do about that gaze of Tony’s. Wishes it were sexual, because at least then, he’d understand. But it isn’t about sex. Has nothing to do with it, so Bucky’s just as lost in this new world with Stark in the kitchen as most of the Avengers thought Stark would be if he ever came back. 

Bucky blinks himself back to reality just in time to see a new spoonful of ice cream (coconut? Pineapple?) disappear, and for Stark’s cheeks to hollow around it, the heat now in his eyes. With his mouth like that, maybe it is sexual, but only because Stark likes to push.

“Hey,” he says, softly, ever so softly, because Stark is fucking insane, and no one knows how he got that way or what they should do about it. Bucky’s got a good idea. Everyone else is in denial. Stark doesn’t respond, except to lick the next spoonful slowly, like a lollipop, like he’s trying to get James to understand just how much of an innuendo hollowing one’s cheeks is. 

“Hello,” Stark says, trying to get his attention again. Bucky remembers, all too abruptly, that the good scent, like expensive cologne and something sweet, that’s in this kitchen is all Stark. Bucky wishes he didn’t smell it like he does, but Stark came off his suppressants when he disappeared, and no doc in their right mind is going to put him back on them. Not with how screwy his head is right now.

It’s the same reason they won’t give Bucky suppressants, either. Not with how weird he smells. The reminder has the Soldier leaning forward in the back of his mind, tilting his head. 

_ I want _ , he says, and he need not finish the sentence, because even without the Soldier, Bucky wants, too. He and Stark are compatible, and it took a kidnapping to realize that.

“Are you okay? Being back, I mean,” he manages to get out, and he’s glad he did, because that’s the most he’s ever been able to verbalize around the man. Even before, when Stark was safe (but not safe enough) in his metal suit, he had a magnetic, powerful way of moving. You can’t train that sort of thing into someone. You have to live it, breathe it, eat it every second of every day. 

Bucky wanted him then, too, even when he was half high from appeasing the Soldier’s need for someone- anyone- to know what they’re doing enough to tell Bucky where to go and when to fight and monitor him when he wasn’t fighting because they trained the Soldier to kill them all but they never taught him not to kill himself. They trained the instinctual prioritizing of food and sleep and shelter (and sex) out of him.

He wanted Stark even when he was half out of it, falling hard because if the Soldier was happy, then Bucky himself was crashing hard, floating in the nothing that they strove to keep him in for seventy years. But then they left him mostly dead in fucking Siberia. 

But Stark isn’t in a metal suit anymore, and his scent is out and free to float about the room. He may as well be wrapped in armor though. His hair is down to his thighs and perfect black liner makes his eyes seem bigger, softer, more expressive, and harder to possess. He has earrings now, too. Today, they’re small hoops. 

Bucky can pick out all the scars he’d observed before on the face of a man who had seen far too much. But he can also see new scars, and old scars, and he looks twenty something. There are other scars too; the deliberate kind you don’t get in accidents. Stark may have only been missing for six months, but it looks like it’s been longer when given the man himself. Bucky remembers, suddenly, the day he came back.

 

...

 

_ The ship was smaller than any they’d seen; the hull tan with cream colored highlights. It appears out of the sky,already just fifty feet above the ground. The ship’s rockets show up against the background of steel grey clouds like suns in miniature.  _

_ The thing does not respond to any outside stimuli, and the Avengers are on high alert as the rockets cut on and it begins its landing sequence. Steve is there, along with Wanda, while the rest are in hiding, just waiting. Watching. Hoping to avoid a conflict, but ready if it comes to that. The grass flattens under the ship as it lands; nose pointed away from them.  _

_ The single door in the back of the vessel opens, the ramp extends down. The sweetness of an omega with no scent blockers rolls out into the air. A short man with dark, wavy hair that goes down to his high thigh appears. A balbo decorates his mouth and chin, and khol on his upper eyelids makes the brown orbs even bigger than they are normally. Earrings shine from each lobe.  _

_ He’s wearing canvas harem pants tucked into big work boots underneath a harness, from which two blasters and a series of knives and tools hang. A sleeveless shirt with a weave pattern reminiscent of armor seems molded to his upper body. It tucks neatly into the pants and is half hidden by a short jacket with a mandarin collar and long, close cut sleeves. His hands are hidden in gloves. Everything, with the exception of the patterns on his blasters and tools and the grey-green canvas bag in one hand, is in black.  _

_ “Tony?” Steve asks, eyebrows going clear to his hairline at the sight of his comrade. Tony only seems to just then notice Roger’s presence, despite him being directly in front of him. He backs up the ramp, sweet scent lingering in the air. _

_ “Go away, Rogers,” Tony hisses from within the interior of the ship. The scent changes; burning where it was lovely, and washes over Steve on top of the sweetness. Tony is scared of him. Scared and angry. _

_ “Tony?” Natalia says as she comes out of her hiding spot. Tony’s face twists in a snarl as the ramp closes again.  _

_ “Tony, wait!” Steve calls as he tries to get to the ship in time. He leaps, and that’s when it becomes clear that the shield in his hands isn’t the one he gave up nine months ago, now. He would have just thrown the damn thing if it was. As soon as he touches the retracting ramp, Tony moves in just as much of a blur as Steve sometimes does, and he’s being kicked out of way. The door to the ship seals shut just as Natasha takes her own chance.  _

_ A moment later, Tony’s voice echoes around the Compound’s back lawn. _

_ “Get me someone else.”  _

_ “Can you hear us?” Steve asks. _

_ “Of course. Now get me someone else.” _

_ “Tony, if you could just come out and we could talk, this would go a lot easier,” Steve says. _

_ “No… it would be easier to try to make things go your way. I will talk to Miss Potts. I will talk to Colonel Rhodes or the Vision. I will talk to Happy Hogan. You all, however, are subpar. Get me someone else.” _

_ “Tony, none of those people are cleared to be dealing with anything from space-” _

_ “Well, no one’s allowed to touch my skip, so that’s settled. I, myself, in case you’ve all forgotten, am a US citizen, and am most definitely not from outer space,” Tony says. He’s sitting in the pilot’s chair, eyes on the screens projected by the cameras attached to the back of the ship. _

_ “Tony, you’ve been missing,” Natasha reminds him, like he didn’t somehow know that. _

_ “Uh-huh. So inform someone who won’t come in here guns blazin’, and don’t come back until you do.” A click is heard, and though Tony is still watching them call out platitudes and arguments as to why he should talk with them, he does not respond. _

_ It takes seven hours.  _

_ At that point, a familiar redhead in a lavender sheath dress stalks out across the lawn like she owns it. Her face is serious, expression drawn and tight. She’s followed (and mirrored) by a beefy man with an ovular face in a black suit. They, like Steve before them, come to a stop some yards away from the skip. A moment of silence passes. _

_ “Tony?” The ramp extends down, and she and Happy walk into the skip. _

 

…

 

“Get lost, Soldat?” Stark asks, and his voice is silk soft, his eyes still burning. His scent is still sweetness and cologne.  _ I want _ .

“Yes,” Bucky murmurs, because on every single layer that that question has, the answer is yes. Yes, he is lost in this new time. Yes, he is lost in dealing with his maybe soul, maybe not a soul. Yes, he is lost when it comes to Stark himself. Yes, he did just get lost in the memories. Every time he does that last one, Stevie looks at him worriedly. 

“Maybe I should… help you,” Stark murmurs. Another bite of the warming ice cream goes into his mouth, and Bucky’s eyes catch on how his lips gleam from the sugary stickiness.

“Maybe. But I think you shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Everyone else seems to think that my help is… required. Paying my dues, I believe the term is,” he says with that smile that’s too sharp around the edges. In the low light of the stove, Bucky can’t help but thinking about panthers, laid out supine, yet dangerous, in the shadowy branches of giant amazonian trees. Thinks about them cleaning their great, deadly paws.

“I’m not everyone,” Bucky says, fingers of his remaining hand twitching. Stark’s eyes take it in with far too much interest.

“No, I suppose you’re not.” Stark slides off the countertop, puts the icecream away, and walks… right… past without another word. Without another look. What is it about this man that causes Bucky to be both relieved and apprehensive every time he both walks into a room and leaves it?

 

…

 

Tony sits on the base of his first friend. He’s wrapped in a comforter, and his hair hangs loose around his shoulders. He’d forgotten what it’s like to own. To… have friends. Never mind whether they betray him or not. 

DUM-E beeps, worriedly, Tony thinks. He hums back at his baby, and DUM-E’s claw gently drags over the top of his head, another beep emanating from above him.

“Yeah, bud,” Tony says after a pause. His eyes slip closed again, and he drifts for a while on the warm haze of his blanket.

“It’s good, Boss, to have you back,” FRIDAY says, her voice much quieter than it normally is. She doesn’t do much talking these days. Miss Potts doesn’t talk to her like Boss does, and most of the rest aren’t worth the conversation.

“They say I’m insane FRIDAY.”

“Not sure why. Don’t think I’ve ever talked to a mad man before.”

“They all have their theories,” Tony says as he reaches out a hand to grasp BUTTERFINGER’s claw.

“What are they?”

“Steve thinks I’m crazy because his soldier friend’s fascinated and I’m playing along. Natasha thinks I’m crazy ‘cause she can’t read me. You know why she can’t do that, FRIDAY?”

“No, Boss, but I can’t read you if I depend on my old algorithms either. I’ve had to write new ones.”

“I’ve been gone a long time, FRIDAY.”

“How long, Boss?”

“Years, baby. I’ll give you a hint: time moves differently, depending on what part of space your in. Space is a lonely place, baby. When you’re on a ship, and you’ll be someone’s captive for years before you see another planet you start to see things a little differently.”

“Yeah?” FRIDAY asks.

“Yeah. It was like when I was in the dessert, except I knew there was no dessert. There wasn’t our sun to track my position by. There wasn’t someone combing Afghanistan for me. You start to forget who you are. Where you come from. What you do. And he did that to everyone. Every single one of us, he did that to… shit, FRIDAY. 

“He was so good at breaking us down, no matter the details, that he had a ship, four thousand warriors strong. We trained together. Fought together. There were specialized teams, too. You know what team he had me on?”

“What, Boss?”

“He had me on the retrieval team. Someone runs, it’s our job to bring that guy back. God, we were hated. And feared. And loved. Whatever we wanted we got.”

“Who’s we?”

“There was a hierarchy on the ship, baby girl. His weapons master was a fire demon with hair down to her knees. She was his number three. I was her pupil. Her and a few others were above me, and I could make whoever do whatever I wanted, as long as they weren’t under the direct control of someone above me. 

“You know what I hated about it?”

“What, Boss?”

“There weren’t any friends. There were no such things as friends. Didn’t matter how high up in the chain you were- and I should know, ‘cause I started from the bottom- you were never not a slave. I hated that there were moments when it was easy to forget that. Years where you didn’t remember.”

“I’m sorry Boss.” Tony doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“I barely remember what it’s like for that to not be true.”

“Boss…”

“Yeah, FRIDAY?”

“If there’s such a thing as a retrieval team, then aren’t they coming for you?” Tony smiles, sharp and wan. 

“You’re so smart, baby girl.”


	3. Magazine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony shows up on the cover of people magazine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE/NON-CON IN THE ITALICIZED SCENE. SKIP TO END FOR SUMMARY.

“God,” Steve says, because he really doesn’t know what to do with this. The picture is for People Magazine. Steve is looking at the front cover. Tony is leaning back against a wall in nothing but some fitted jeans, distressed and artfully ripped, thumbs shoved into his pockets. His hair is all loose and long and wavy. Two swathes of it run down on either side of his chest, mostly concealing his skin. The rest of it runs down his back.

His head is tilted back, touching the wall behind him. His mouth is slightly open, teeth just barely visible. His lids are at half mask, dark lashes made more noticeable by the eyeliner that’s become one of his new staples. His skin glows somehow, especially his full, pink mouth, making his beard stand out that much more. It looks like someone just kissed him, then left him leaning there, on the verge of excited, and snapped that picture. 

Most shocking, though, is the shining, blue diamond standing out from the center of his chest, half concealed by a pendant shaped like an eight pointed star. Steve’s eyes are pulled everywhere by scars criss crossing all up and down Tony’s chest and arms. He continuously lingers on where the hair and shadows hide things. 

There are circular burns on either shoulder that they can't see fully, and if Steve isn’t mistaken, those and some others may have been branded on. There’s a puncture wound low on his navel, and a small scar, barely visible, across one of his scent glands.

“I had no idea he had this,” Steve says. He would never have seen such a picture when he was growing up, but this isn’t the forties, and this is Tony Stark. Natasha comes up behind him. She leans over a little bit. If Steve was a little more gullible, he’d say she’s shaken. 

“Neither did I.”

 

…

 

Tony texts the photographer that was making eyes at him during the shoot and waits for his response. He sits back after a moment, and Pepper gives him a side eye as she answers some email.

“Stop that,” Tony says as he drums his fingers on his leg.

“You’ve been back for what? Two weeks?”

“So?”

“So maybe we’re pushing this.”

“Last time I got back from being missing I almost got killed. I think we’re doing just fine.”

“Tony, I just want you to be okay,” Pepper says. She lays her hand on one of his arms, thumb tracing a scar underneath his shirt.

“I’m not going to be okay for a while, Pep.” And Tony only admits this because Happy is driving. Pep gives him a long look, then moves on. 

“Have you been reading the reports from your proxies?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, and he remembers someone else who didn’t want to push.

 

…

 

_ “I am no expert on human biology, but I do believe you are courting death,” Ananzan says as she eyes the monitors. Tony doesn’t stop working (they’ve progressed passed that point), but he does answer. _

_ “I have been courting death since I was seventeen.” _

_ “How old is that?” Ananzan asks. It isn’t often that the human references his past, and it was almost never around this “seventeen”. _

_ “Late adolescence,” Tony says, and Ananzan nods her head, long black hair moving a bit. _

_ “What will this do to you?” _

_ “It will make me stronger. Inhuman, I guess.” _

_ “I do not like it. Nix will not like it, either.” _

_ “Did he not give me permission to fix myself?” _

_ “He is a collector. He wanted a human. A unique, strange human. If you make yourself inhuman, there will be no point.” _

_ “Hmm. There were plenty of unique humans he could have taken. If he’d wanted that person to stay the same, he wouldn’t have nabbed the one with a weak heart.” Ananzan falls quiet, thinking. _

_ “You will still be you, though? You will not suddenly cease  to be yourself?” Tony finally turns to her.  _

_ “What kind of question is that?” Ananzan looks back, as steady as any stone. _

_ “He wants a human. If you do not act like yourself, there is even less point.” _

_ “You know exactly what happens if I act like myself.” Ananzan had found him the fourth time he’d mouthed off to someone, and they’d left him bleeding and wheezing because they knew how to hit where it hurt. _

_ “Yes, but he wants it there. Aye, there isn’t much you can do that is genuinely you, I know this. But he likes to see it. How do you say? A lion, never having seen the wild? That is what he likes to see.” they are speaking in English, as there is no equivalent to lion in Ananzan’s language, and more privacy in Tony’s, besides.  _

_ “That’s what you are, right?” Tony says, and he’s suddenly angry that it’s Ananzan, discussing how Nix would like to be able to see, but never experience, what a real human is like.  _

_ Angry that it’s Ananzan who had come across her own subordinates with a human whose hair was shaved to the scalp and whose food kept getting stolen. Angry that she, too, had smelled that too sweet, intoxicating scent, and had watched from the doorway as three men with hair down to their shoulders had their way.  _

_ Angry that it was she that had eventually broken them up, and who had brought Tony to the arms of Illutvar, who had put him back together again and kept him safe from all comers. Angry that he had been placed under the direct care (and control) of Ananzan, who had had the foresight to take him to this lab and let him get aquainted with alien equipment, so that maybe he could fix his dying heart. _

_ “It is what we all are,” Ananzan says, and she doesn’t seem sad or angry. She seems like a lion, who’s got know idea that these here bars are a cage. She doesn’t press Tony to talk any more, after that. Tony stays quiet, sure he’s angered her, and that he will feel her wrath like he felt the wrath of the rest.  _

_ But he doesn’t. For a demon, Ananzan is peculiarly nonreactive to whatever Tony says and does. _

 

_ … _

 

“You know, sometimes I miss it,” Tony murmurs. Pepper stops working and looks at him.

“Miss what?” She asks, and she’s almost afraid to here the answer.

“Miss space. I was afraid of it for so long. It killed me, you know? You know. I let it kill us. I was always seeing this big, alien army, crashing down towards earth, wiping us out. I saw it. I saw it every day, every night. I worked on Ultron because I was afraid. I… was always afraid. Then I learned what was really up there, and most days, I miss it.”

“Is this about whatever’s going on between you and Steve?”

“Yeah, it is. He’s so guilty, and he feels it, but at the same time, he feels entitled to forgiveness, and to forgetfulness. He feels like I should make it all go away, and like we should go back to being friends, even though he knows he the one who threw all that away. It was easier, up there. I knew that there was no real friendship. Not on the Colonial.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING SUMMARY:
> 
> Tony recalls a conversation he and Ananzan had shortly after he'd been put in her care for protection. his heat was attracting people, and they were raping him all through it. The conversation was about how Nix expected Tony to act like a human the way lions in zoos act like lions. 
> 
> Notes: 
> 
> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)
> 
> Special Announcement 6.1.2018  
> I am setting up an Etsy shop! As soon as I get the final edits to my drawings done, you will be able to buy them, including the picture of Hela from the “Enough” series!


	4. Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a public and a private interview. He gains a new person.

The couch is a soft, light grey, and Tony settles gracefully onto one arm like he’s been sitting on this exact couch and in this exact spot for years and years and years. A small trickle of relief goes through Pepper. However long Tony has been away, he still has that stage-show, center-of-everyone’s-attention flair.

Pepper watches from the sidelines as the news crew gets their host and their guests ready. Everyone in the goes quiet as the director counts down. The red light of the camera goes on, and the host, one Adam Lancer, gives a picture perfect smile.

“Welcome back to  _ What’s Happened Now? _ . I am your host, Adam Lancer, and today we have a guest who is  _ abnormally _ special, Doctor Anthony Edward Stark the III, also known as Tony, and Iron Man. Dr. Stark disappeared six months ago only to come back in a spaceship of all things! Tell me, Doctor Stark, how  _ did _ you get off-world?” Lancer asks. His eyes are bright blue, and his hair is an appealing mix of silver and blond. Tony looks to him, the same pleasant expression on his face.

“Well Adam, I was by myself, a while back. It was at the Compound, and I had been working. I took a walk around the grounds to stretch my legs. Next thing I know, I’m on a spaceship.” Lancer lets out a soft, incredulous whistle.

“That  _ must _ have been a shock to the system.”

“It was. There was this entirely new culture on the ship too, and everyone knew all these languages with no translation into english. It was nuts.”

“How big was the ship?”

“Something like four, five-thousand people. I never got an actual count,” Tony says with a small shrug of his shoulders.

“Oh my god, how big was that ship?”

“I’m not sure. I was mostly in the engineering section.”

“Why were you there?”

“I was supposed to look after the engines and what not.”

“How big were the engines?”

“It depends one which ones you’re talking about. There were different types. The ones that fueled the rockets were pretty big. They worked a lot like coal engines. The jump drives- it let us travel light years in seconds- were different, and I don’t have a comparison for that. There were a few dozen internal engines that kept different parts of the ship going, though.”

“And you were in charge of all of them?” Lancer asks, interest in his body language. However much of that is real, Tony doesn’t know, nor does he bother to figure it out.

“No. We worked in teams that rotated around the ship.” Lancer is nodding like that makes sense to him. He seems to pause, like he’s asking himself if he should go for something. Then, he leans in a bit, like he and Tony are co conspirators.

“Doctor Stark... many people- not necessarily me, but many people regardless- they’re worried. They want to know if the returned Avengers had anything to do with your disappearance. They, as you know, benefitted from this whole affair more than anyone should.” Tony’s nodding like he totally gets it.

“It is tempting, isn’t it? To just attribute my disappearance solely to those who took advantage of the situation? It’s not like it hasn’t been true in the past, after all. But, no, I was kidnapped off of earth by the captain of the ship, along with another human who died soon after abduction.”

“What will you do, then? They live in your building, and all sources indicate Miss Potts keeping them on a tight leash.”

“I won’t go against her on that. She’s been my friend for years, and she’s never so much as sort of did something to hurt me. Even when we broke up, it was more or less an agreement that we couldn’t be there for each other and be involved at the same time; it had to be one or the other. If she’s choosing to keep them on a tight leash, then I’ll defer to her. Besides, they aren’t really my concern; they never were, to be honest.”

“But you took care of them?” Tony shrugs.

“I thought that was the best way to go about things, but I was wrong. I learned that the hard way.”

“Miss Potts has been making a number of waves in the superhero community in the past six months. Between the Compound undergoing restructuring and the heroes currently living there under heavy legal scrutiny, a lot of people think she should back off and leave the decisions to someone who has been in this game.”

“I designated Miss Potts to look after my investments and such in the case that I go missing or die, because I trust her not to stab me in the back. She put the trust we still share, even after all this time, to good use.

“Now, remember that the Compound is my property. The design is mine. I paid the construction crews and the architects and what not. I maintained the grounds, and I kept the lights on, bought the land, bought the food, and outfitted all the rooms. 

“I was still paying all the bills at the time of my disappearance, putting the Compound and those who live in it directly under Miss Potts jurisdiction, no contest.  The “Civil War” made it infinitely clear that I was way too involved with these people. I was doing too much for those who have no problem throwing everything back into my face. 

“Now put yourself in her very nice shoes, Adam. Imagine having- needing- to go to a hospital for your long-time friend, Colonel Rhodes, and, in a matter of days, also having to go to a hospital for me, your other long-time friend.” Tony stops and pins him with a burning, unsettling stare. Lancer shifts, and it’s obvious that, omega or no, Tony is definitely the king of this episode.

“That would be a bit traumatic,” Lancer says, softly. Tony nods, continuing.

“Then, a scant three months later, you have to sit there while your penthouse gets turned into a circus as all manner of people file through, asking you questions about me. Where I was when we last had contact, what I was doing, who I was with, and if I was involved with anyone. 

“At the same time, a bunch of people who said- and excuse my french-  _ fuck it _ to everyone, including your long-time friends, gets to flounce back in and settle back into using my money and resources like nothing happened,” Tony says. During this time, he’s leaned even closer, and Lancer is helpless in the magnetic, stilling gaze.

“I would keep them on a tight leash, too, if someone had done that to Pepper, and I was in charge of all her affairs,” Tony finishes quietly. He sits back, letting the moment break, the intensity drain away.

“And what will you do now, since you are back and in charge of your own affairs again?”

“I’ll keep doing what Pepper’s been doing. We had discussed, and partially set in motion, most, if not all, of the things that have been going on in my absence. This isn’t just something she’s pulling out of thin air.”

“Many people wonder why Miss Potts is so involved with superheroes, though. They think she’s unqualified. What do you have to say about that?” Tony lets his head tilt to the side just slightly, eyebrows raising a bit. 

“I think that people said she was unqualified when she was my personal assistant. She hadn’t been around business moguls or been in charge of anyone’s life to the degree that she was in charge of mine before that. 

“They said she was unqualified when I made her CEO. She’d never been higher in a company than when she was with me, so she must not have what it takes. They will say she is unqualified to do whatever she does, wherever she goes, because it is very much a man’s world out there. Even male omegas have it better than female omegas, because the guys are built like they could hurt someone.

“But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that ‘unqualified’ doesn’t mean incapable, and I would advise those who are yapping on about how she doesn’t have a degree for this- and who does?- to maybe watch their mouths before they have to eat their words,” Tony says. Lancer is nodding in agreement.

“Lovely wording, Doctor Stark. The  _ other thing _ that a lot of people are wondering is: will you continue being Iron Man? Your accomplishments are many, and the list is impressively long, but the list of injuries, mental and physical, looks _ longer _ from where the rest of us are standing.” Tony shrugs.

“That, I think, remains to be seen.”

 

…

Pepper’s apparently decided that Tony’s maybe-like of the blonde stylist has qualified her for the exclusive job of keeping Tony looking camera ready, no matter where he’s at or what happens. As a professional stylist, it’s a wet dream. As a woman in need of money and an omega in need of a foothold, it’s an even wetter dream. 

The woman’s name is Christie “with an e” Carol, as she introduces herself for the second time, and she doesn’t flinch from anything. She becomes the first of Tony’s new people. After  _ What’s Happened Now? _ ’s successful appearance, Tony shows up to his first shareholders meeting in seven months, and god, is it ever a bore. The R&D meeting is better, but only by a hair’s breadth. Everyone and their dog wants him to cut his damn hair.

Pepper calls him with an offer from  _ Time _ Magazine. Two weeks after his first interview, four since coming home, he and Pepper are on the cover, standing proud in all black (Tony) and white and gold (Pepper). Their twin gazes are staring the camera down, their alpha and omega statuses opposite of what’s expected. Their bodies are poised against an all white background, and above the word “resilience” in old newsprint style. The world is eating it up.

It’s that afternoon, as Tony is sitting on the floor of his favorite living room while Christie does his hair in cornrows to his ears that Steve finally catches up to him.

“Tony, can we talk?” Steve asks. Tony doesn’t move.

“Why?” he asks as Christie pulls another strand of hair back into the newest braid.

“I was wondering how the compound will be run from here on out,” Steve says as he takes a seat on the opposite couch. Burning eyes catch his, and Steve does his best to decipher the look. Like always, though, Tony gives nothing away.

“Which part?”

“Just an overview would be good,” Steve says, and he’s looking for something. Fishing with a wide net, as it were, but Tony doesn’t know what, yet.

“I own the building, but since none of you, at present, have jobs or incomes, the government pays me every month to keep you all housed, fed, and watered. In addition to that, they pay extra for allotted time at the various specialty gyms, as well as the simulator, which you should have received a schedule for, given that extra, unscheduled time is clocked and the government charged for that as well. Haven’t you been in contact with your liasons?”

“I just wanted to hear it from you,” Steve says, careful with his wording. Tony shrugs one shoulder.

“Well I don’t know why that would be. I don’t foot any bills for any of you.”

“So there won’t be any more updates?” There it is.

“At present, you should have been downgraded, given that the current iterations of your weapons and bodysuits are ones that I made and hold all rights, patents, and licenses for. If any of you still have Stark anything, with the exception of your phones, which should be version twenty one, not twenty seven as you seem to have, you’re breaking the agreements you signed in order to live in the compound in the first place. How you’re doing this, I don’t know, since your government is being fined for every second you continue to disregard the rules and regulations that you all agreed to,” Tony says with a pleasant tinge to his voice. 

Steve wonders when a man whose spent most of his adult life on suppressants learned to control his scent so that the sweetness and cologne doesn’t change. 

“We are aware. It’s just that some of the team hasn’t ever used anything but Stark tech, and those rules weren’t put in place by you,” Steve says. Tony knows that. He knows they were actually implicated by Pepper after a certain orange clownfish of a president got spooked into pardoning the Avengers, and they were unilaterally dumped onto the Compound’s (and, by proxy, Pepper’s) unwilling hands.

“You’ll need to get into contact with your liaisons. I don’t do gear or weapons or bodysuits or upgrades to either.” Steve’s looking at him like he’s just so disappointed. Like he was sure that if he only gave Tony a chance, he would do better. But Tony is long past doing better by Steve. He did better by Steve and his cronies for years, and all he got was a houseful of gold diggers who were more inclined to roll their eyes than listen to anything he has to say.

“There’s something else I wanted to ask you,” Steve says, and Tony has just a second to be suspicious by the strange lack of arguing. Tony arches an eyebrow.

“What is it going to take to move past this?”

“Past what?” Tony says. He would have cocked his head, but Christie will pull his fucking hair if he does that. Steve makes a half aborted hand movement that seems to suggest everything.

“Everything. The civil war.”

“You want me… to give you a step by step plan… of how to make me forget that you lied to me for four years while pretending to be my friend.”

“I wasn’t pretending, Tony. Sometimes I make mistakes.”

“You made a mistake every single day for four years, for one. That’s not a mistake. That’s roughly fourteen hundred mistakes. Furthermore, you constantly talked about how terrible I was for Ultron, and how I just need to learn to listen, and to be a part of a team and change a billion other things that you didn’t like. Then, you use my actual, literal kidnapping to your advantage so that you can conveniently skip over the international list of crimes you committed by deciding to punch the problem. And now you want to ‘get past this’.” 

Steve looks so guilty right now. If Tony held out his wrist, Steve would take it, and jam his nose into it. Tony could melt all the tension away, and he could make Steve feel like he’s home again. But he’s not going to do that. He’s sick and tired of doing that.

“I’m sorry Tony, it just felt like once SHIELD fell-”

“-was pushed,” Tony interrupts with a cold look.

“It felt like everything just kept piling up.”

“Did you know that Stark industries almost went bankrupt?” Steve blinked.

“What?”

“Stark industries. Almost went bankrupt.” and Tony’s eyes are twin black holes while Christie pretends not to hear anything.

“When?”

“After I found out that my godfather had been selling weapons illegally, it stood to reason that maybe possibly some of the money that SI made was dirty. At that point, I could have covered everything up. It was actually the best option for me.” Tony allows a small pause so that Steve will really get the implications of what he’s saying.

“There are people who still consider me a fool to this day because of just how much Obie was doing while I wasn’t looking. Stark industries was fined and investigated by just about everybody and their dog. We took major hits to stock, and we couldn’t even sell the phones and tablets like we used to; people were boycotting and they were returning stuff. There was rioting for months after that.

“Obie had made billions in dirty money, and every single penny of it went to cleaning up SI. I actually lost roughly all of my fortune then, as well. A lot of jobs got lost in the fallout. A lot of people got carted off to jail. We even got sued by a country or two who couldn’t figure out how the hell Stark Missiles were exploding in their country. Now let me ask you: is there a good time to inform everyone about what a fucking fool I’d been? Is there a good time to handle the fallout?” Mutely, Steve shakes his head. Not on a magnitude that big. Tony tilts his own to the side, eyes wide and dark like gun barrels. Christie doesn’t pull.

“Then don’t talk to me about ‘piling up’. I was neck deep in shit at the same moment that I lost one of the few people who still gave a shit about me. He, like you, was more gold digger than family. He was just a better actor. You should know I’ll be hard pressed to get past any of that. Now get out. I’m getting my hair done,” Tony says, sounding just the tiniest bit petulant, and Steve has to go, because in that moment, Tony Stark seems absolutely sane. 

Christie, Christie, who Tony’s starting to like more, doesn’t say a word.


	5. James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony does a favor for James, goes on a mission, and gets called to Pepper's office for a little de-stressing.

The day that Tony Stark is found on the roof of the compound with his bare feet hanging over the side is the day that Bucky finally cracks. Not that there was something crack over, per say. It’s just, the man’s always looking at everyone and everything like it’s all a big joke. 

So the day that Tony Stark is laying out on the blacktop of the east wing of the Compound roof, Bucky Barnes tracks him up there and sits quietly by him. 

“They say you won’t tell anyone what really happened to you,” Bucky says after a while. Tony Stark does not move, but Bucky sees his ribcage expand just a bit more than necessary, as though he’s enjoying this particular inhale more than others. Or bracing himself.

“It’s none of their business,” he says after a moment.

“Things rarely are,” Bucky notes, a little wry, a little serious. It’s more personality than he’s showed so far.

“True. But it’s like blood in the water,” Tony cracks his eyes open, and the light hits them just right, the brown going liquid gold, “they’ll swarm until they get everything, and they’ll chew over the bones.”

“What is there to find?” Tony closes his eyes again, and Bucky notes that this is a remarkable amount of trust for a man whose parents he killed. For a man he nearly killed. 

“Oh, you’ll see when they do.” 

_ I want _ , the Soldier says again, and Bucky can’t deny that it’s Tony Stark whose got him moving closer like a planet in orbit. Cautiously, Bucky lays down next to Tony, observing the vast swath of land behind the Compound. Tony blinks over at him, curious. 

“Why are you here?”

Bucky shrugs.

“Just wanted to say hi.”

Tony takes a deep breath, the smell of frost and metal and something not quite alpha filling his nose as he rolls onto his side and pushes himself up. Bucky joins him, a little startled, a little intrigued. His eyes bore into Bucky’s, his gaze challenging. He doesn’t lever himself entirely to his feet, but rather stays on the ground, looking at him. He lifts his eyebrows, knowing Bucky will notice, wondering if he’ll be bothered.

“I don’t think you’re being honest,” Tony says. He doesn’t push beyond that. Strange. Stranger still is how every moment Tony Stark does absolutely nothing is a moment that Bucky’s panicking over.

“I wanted to say sorry.” Tony doesn’t react to that.

“For what, buttercup?” he says, eventually, voice rolling out smooth and unaffected.

“I’m sorry about Bucharest, and Siberia, and your parents. I’m sorry I almost killed you the first time we met,” Bucky says in a rush. It spills out like blood in the water; fast, then slow and spreading out to cover a wider area, tinging it pink. 

“You really mean that?” Tony says, and he lets his eyes fall closed, and he relaxes again, so that he’s still laid out in the sun on one of the last nice days of the year.

“Yeah. I mean it. Been meaning it since I got my head kinda together.”

“You don’t have the triggers anymore?” Tony asks. Bucky shrugs.

“We don’t know.  The programming is faulty. They had to keep doing it. There’s no telling what they did or how it’ll go from here. They think it’ll decay. Till then, though, we just have to wait and see.”

“Is that why you don’t really smell like an alpha?” Tony asks. He sits up, and suddenly, he’s a lot closer than he was before. It’s only then that Bucky realizes he’s never come out of his crouch, and Tony has just sat up. Bucky wants to flinch, but Tony’s eyes aren’t bullet holes right now, they’re just chocolate.

“I think so.”

Slowly, Tony raises one hand up off the ground slides the tips of his fingers gently along Bucky’s stubble. He pauses, savors the moment, then rubs gently. Bucky’s eyes are closing shut as the sweet scent surrounds him and kisses it’s way along his brain. Tony makes the buzzing irritation in the back of his mind settle down like it was just a pot on a too hot burner.

“Go on, love. I know it’s been too long,” Tony murmurs, and his hair is just shining in the sunlight as Bucky presses himself against that wrist and takes in the scent. He closes his eyes as Tony guides his head forwards to his neck and lets Bucky breathe and shiver at his glands. Tony pulls them both backwards. He’s careful about it too, so that Bucky isn’t off balance and doesn’t have to catch himself with his flesh hand or rubber stump. 

In the end, they’re laying on the roof together, Bucky’s torso over Tony’s, his nose in Tony’s neck, forgetting where they are or what’s going on around them for a while. Tony centers him, and that’s scary cause the way he looks at people has most thinking he’s insane. That’s scary cause they say the same thing about Bucky. 

But Tony just keeps him there, and, when the sun gets low, he takes Bucky by the one hand and leads him down off the roof and into the compound. He pulls the Winter Soldier into his bedroom and guides him under the covers. When Bucky is drifting off, warm and nice and happy for the first time in a long time, Tony presses one, singular kiss to his forehead and murmurs softly:

“I forgave you a long time ago,” and then Bucky’s tumbling down into the abyss of real, peaceful sleep, and Tony is slipping out the door, shutting it soundlessly behind him. He smiles, excitement building in his stomach. Not because he brought a super soldier to his knees with hardly a word, but because the Widow sees him leave, and she reports to Steve. 

 

…

 

The next day, the call goes out for the Avengers, and though no one is quite comfortable with Tony on the field, it’s clear to everyone that the Avengers are going to need him moving in the background. 

“Talk to me, Redwing,” Tony orders from the jet as he gets online to respond to the flurry of incoming messages. They’re out in Nevada, dealing with gigantic, carnivorous (and occasionally cannibalistic), heavily armored worms. Civilian casualties are up to eleven and the back end of of the nearest town. Fucking hell. 

“Nothing’s going through!” Sam yells out as Captain America, once again, attempts to pierce the armored plating.

“We need a plan, Stark!” Barton snaps out.

“Herd them. Do not engage,” Iron Man replies. From the looks of it, the worm’s shells are made of a much stronger version of chitin. Two hours later, drones are flying overhead, the Avengers are clearing out, and a cloud of fumes containing a far stronger version of chitinase are dropping down over the beasts, dissolving them as they slither away.

 

…

 

Debrief is, as usual, a pain in the ass. Or, at least it would be, if Tony was obligated to stay. But one little text from Pepper and he’s sliding out of his chair, dipping his head in acknowledgement, and striding out of the room. He can smell the irritation in the room, but who’s going to stop him? They’re already back in New York, too, so he’s on home turf.

“Pepper,” Tony says as he gets into his car and starts it, “tell me you actually want to see me today.” There’s a moment of too-quiet on the other end.

“I heard you were on mission today.”

“I was,” Tony agrees as he pulls out into traffic, “stayed on the sidelines, coordinated with law enforcement and, oh, eventually figured out what we needed to save the day.”

“And the casualties?”

“The worms came from underground. Casualties are from their initial appearance. Can’t be blamed for them,” Tony informs her as he makes his way over to the SI offices; the place is much less known than the Tower, of course, so if Pep wants to meet, it will be there.

“And you’re doing okay?”

“I’m fine, Pep. I’ve… the whole abduction thing is definitely not what anyone wanted. Except for maybe Natasha, but I digress. It’s… given me the gift of perspective?”

“I’m glad. Come see me. I’m in my office.” Tony knows that Pepper doesn’t believe him, cause he said that shit about missing space, and he’s glad she, at least, knows him a bit, now.

“Great.” Tony gets off the phone and pays attention to the rush hour traffic, trying not to get hit by anyone. The SI offices are nice, nondescript buildings that most SI employees work out of, and Tony is extra happy Pepper didn’t believe him, because a hug from Pepper is, like, one of the only things he missed. 

“Talk to me, Tony,” Pepper says as she presses her hands against his back and rests her head on his shoulder. He turns his nose to breathe her scent, and then has to right himself when he gives a little too much control up and Pepper struggles with his weight.

“About what?” he murmurs.

“I don’t pay much attention to magazines, or to the rogues, but everyone and their dog is saying you’re crazy, which usually means you’re doing something that no one understands.”

“I’m back in the lab again. And apparently it’s okay to have the reputation of a whore, but if you actually sleep with someone than everyone starts gaping like idiots.” Pepper smiles and pulls back, eyes sparkling. 

“Who was it?”

“You’ll see in a bit. The poor bastard has  _ such _ a loose tongue.” Pepper smiles up at him again. This is normal for Tony. He gets stressed, he goes out and has sex, and he comes home a little more relaxed.

“What else have you been doing?”

“The usual,” Tony says as Pepper leads him over to a little couch/chair/table set thing to have lunch at. “I did a little favor for James Barnes. It, in return, creeped the fuck out of Natasha Romanov, which, by proxy and design, creeped the fuck out of Steve Rogers. He, in turn, recruited Barton to feel me out. He, of course, is disappointed at my complete and utter lack of fucks. I think I creep him out too. Then there’s Natasha.” Pepper gets this look on her face. She had only recently learned of the syringe thing, and she’s been pissy ever since.

“My dear, lovely spy is trying to figure out where I got all these new behaviors.”

“You haven’t told them?”

“Who would I tell? The only one who even treats me like I’m more than my scent is fucking James, and it’s James we’re talking about.” It’s a really good thing that Pepper called for him today, because the more time he spends in the alpha’s office, the better he feels. Pepper sits back with a little smile stretching her mouth. She lets Tony lay out, his head in her lap.

“They’re going to be so angry.”

“Won’t they? When’s Rhodey coming back? Been on a bit of a lab binge.”

“A few days, I think. You should probably text the man. He’s worried.”

“Hmm I will. Rhodey’s nice.” Tony says as he slides a little more into his warm, safe haze. He hums a little in the back of his throat. Privately, Pepper had always felt that this part of their relationship had been the best of it. Their ability to make it all go away for a while, and then to come out of their personal time stronger and ready and able to go on longer than before had made it all worth it for longer than it would have been, otherwise.

As much as Pepper can’t be Tony’s everything, she can still acknowledge that he is her friend- one of her dearest friends, in fact- and she loves him very much. As bad as Tony’s disappearance was, it has the benefit of pushing them through the weirdness that had been getting back to being just friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
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> 
> Special Announcement 6.15.2018  
> The Etsy will be open next Friday! Come by to see what I’ve got. I’ll post the link when it’s accessible.


	6. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Thor arrive on earth.

Thor appears through a rift in thin air. Nothing is there in one moment, and then he is taking up space the next. There’s only one person who will take him through a rift, by the way, and his name is Loki. Evidently, S.W.O.R.D. caught wind of them somewhere in Montanna, of all places. 

“Thor,” Steve says, and  he sounds kind of tired, like he wishes that all the people who are assumed dead would, like, actually be dead. Seriously. This shit is getting old. 

“Captain.” S.W.O.R.D has gotten them into a conference room, so they’re all actually sitting around a table, and not facing off across a field they’ll have to pay for later.

“Why is Loki here?”

“Loki was under the control of an interstellar warlord by the name of Thanos. He was after the infinity gems, of which the tesseract is one, and the mind stone another, and he intends to take them all back.” Tony pops an eyebrow

“So that’s why you bottlenecked your own invasion.” Loki meets his eyes across the space, and Tony thinks he sees a little bit of the madness that’s all Loki’s own, there. 

“Perhaps.” 

Clint snorts.

“You can’t be serious,” he goes on. Tony feels for him. Mind fuckery is such a hard thing to get over and no one can really expect him to have a good reception of Loki… oh, wait.

“I say we give it a shot,” Tony says, and as the third and final authority on all things alien in this room, there isn’t much anyone can say to him.

“We have an actual god with an actual history of mind controlling, and you want to give it a shot?” Tony shrugs a shoulder.

“I’ve been… around the way, you could say. Come across a lot of magic and such,” Tony starts, and though his gaze begins with Clint, slides over Loki and Thor, it actually ends on Wanda, whose sitting stiff and silent the whole time.

“I can tell you with certainty that if Loki were to attempt mind control now, he would be subject to whatever magical body is around these parts.”

“How do you know that?” Steve asks. Tony shrugs one shoulder, the look he gives Steve almost lazy.

“Trade secret, dear.”

“He is right,” Thor cuts in. “Loki was not acting of his own free will nor was he using his own magic, and, by that, could not be charged with mind control, but to attempt so now would court disaster for him.” Wanda’s getting more and more uncomfortable, though she hides it well.

“How do you mean?” Steve asks again, looking worried and suspicious, depending on who he’s looking at.

“I’m a chaos god? Of the river Change? Do you all know nothing?” Loki demands after a moment. Tony smiles at him a little. The mage sighs, as though he’s been put upon.

“Very briefly: Yggdrasil? Giant tree of life? That’s watered by the River Change, the source of magic for any in its order, such as myself. It’s light comes from the Sun Power, and it’s air is the Sky Natural. That’s what keeps everything turning. 

“Chaos is a major tributary of Change, and, as such, I and many others are tasked with keeping the river flowing the way it ought to. Because of that, a handful of things are enough to get you subjected to a review of other magic users. I was before them, myself, when they were discussing whether or not I should actually lose my powers.”

“They can’t do that!” Wanda says, indignant. Loki shrugs one shoulder.

“They can, and these rules are instinctual. There can be no mind control, nor can you steal another magic user’s abilities for yourself. Everything else is no holds barred,” Loki says as he sits back in his chair, lifting his chin. His eyes, like Tony’s, seem to both draw the gaze of the Captain and pin him in place.

“You should be grateful that it is only the sorcerers of the Kamar-Taj that possess a great working knowledge of magic, or you would already have been reduced to nothing, oh witch.”

“Wanda’s made some bad choices, but she’s doing better,” Steve jumps in. Loki smiles.

“She is not. Better at hiding things maybe, but you forget that I am, in fact, a fully fledged Chaos Mage, and I was, in fact, accepted back into the order not too long ago. That means that I do, in fact, have the ability to take her abilities away should she do any more of her mental tricks.”

“You’re insane, if you think that everyone will just stand by,” Clint gets out. Loki smiles at him, looking a little wistful, a little soft.

“You can’t stop me. I could, of course, call others. Chaos mages don’t tend to be tied down to any one place (I am, of course, that exception), but Thanos intends to use the mind stone as well, and that just won’t do for any of us. When they come, they could pass their own judgement on her, which might be more or less than what I would do, and that could be the final verdict. Or,” and here, Loki’s eye’s swing from Clint’s to Wanda’s, and he leans forward.

“Or you can attempt to alter or control the minds of others, after having received your warning, which will put you firmly in the wrong according to everyone who draws strength from the River Change and the Sun Power, and possibly even the Sky Natural. Consider this your warning, not your verdict.” Loki sits back in his chair again, piece said.

“So how do these orders work?”

“They aren’t orders in a true sense, though there are those too. It’s just a lot of people, across the cosmos and beyond, have agreed that doing this thing will upset the balance of their power source, so they agree not to do those things, and also to watch for any others. If Miss Maximoff had ever moved beyond what petty thing that stirred her to acquire magic in the first place, she would have instinctively felt that the origin of her abilities did not approve of her mind games, and she would have stopped.”

“I, myself, am a God of Change, and Thor is a much lesser God of Power.” Thor doesn’t even rankle at that. Evidently he knew.

“And the mind stone?” Tony asks, curious. Vision, too, is practically leaning forwards in his seat, though he had, for now, taken to avoiding the Rogues.

“Power, supposedly. It was never meant to be used like this,” Loki says with a gesture at Wanda. 

“You used it like that,” Steve says.

“I was certifiably insane, and already under the control of the stone. There wasn’t much I could resist doing. Miss Maximoff is not insane, and, though she’s never even heard of the River Change, she will now be obligated to stay within its rules.” Tony looks at Vision, who seems absolutely transfixed at finally having found someone who knows something about the gem in his forehead.

“How is it supposed to be used?” Vision asks, quietly, and Wanda gives him this look that’s so full of emotions that Tony wants to hit her.

“As you use it. The stones are ancient, of course, and when they were made, they were made without existing others in mind. The mind stone was meant to be the  _ gift _ of the mind, not the  _ reins _ of one,” Loki says. Vision turns to look at Tony, and Tony doesn’t know what to say to that. He smiles at the android.

  
  


…

 

Loki lifts his tea cup to his mouth and takes a small sip. It’s jasmine, and it has too much sugar (the way he likes it). Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the red-faced creature watching him.

“What is it?” He asks after a moment. The creature takes a seat on the couch next to him, and watches him with a steady, cool days. Loki waits.

“Will you tell me more about the mind stone?” Loki looks at him for a moment.

“You’re quite young, aren’t you?”

“That is what I am told,” the creature says. Loki nods.

“Young enough, I suppose. I also suppose we could start from the beginning,” he says, voice strangely gentle for a trickster god. He begins to move his hands a little, so that light blooms from his palms and begins to form shape.

“A very long time ago, there were not beings like us. You and I, or regular midguardians, or even the highest gods, who sat on the thrones of Asgard and Alfheim and Vanaheim. The gods in that day were formless, shapeless, changeless.” The light in his hands are three different colors: green, purple, and orange. They individual orbs begin to mesh into something pretty. The three colors that branch and weave through each other like the patterns of a quilt.

“The long story short is, someone got bored, and that someone went looking for trouble. They became the original god of Change. The purple light withdraws from the other two and forms it’s own person, whose gender is not clear.

“The God of Change sparked a feeling of want in the other two, who were still stuck in their cycle, but without their companion. The first wished to pull Change back, and attempted to exert their will. They became the God of Power.” The orange light now withdraws from the weave, forms it’s own figure, and runs after Change in the air. 

“Change and Power fought, long and hard, though what damage they actually did is unknown and unquantifiable. The third, who remained in their original state, only wished for peace, not control. They took form to end the fight, because without an aether to draw change back to, Power had no reason to continue. They became the God of the Natural.” Finally, the last of the weave coalesces into a green figure, who ends the clashing of the orange and the purple.

“Though their argument was null and void, Change could not be persuaded to be with their companions, and set off, flowing across the emptiness of space to find something else, so Change is a river. Though they created many things, they were still lonely, and still stubborn, so on they continued.” The purple figure has dissolved into a tiny web of ever extending branches (Rivers, Vision supposes)

“Power was angry that the resolution did not come with the end of the fighting, and resolved to remain in place, waiting for the day that Change grew too lonely and came back. So Power is the sun. Because they did not spread themselves and leave trails, looking for something, Power could create stronger things than what Change could, and he could see farther, but he could not contain.” The orange figure morphs into a ball high in the sky, and the land between the rivers is lit with orange.

“Natural was torn between the two and, having no desire other than to see their companions together again, spread themself the thinnest of them all, and became the Sky. They could see much farther, so Change never flowed too far away, but they could create very little; only help things along. They would not, however, help either Change in leaving, nor Power in pursuing.” The space above the rivers, but not between them, is lit green, now, but the colors do not mesh like they did before. 

“And myself?” Vision asks, mind racing as he tries to connect what Loki is saying with how he fits in. Loki raises one hand, the light sustaining even though he is no longer twisting and guiding it with his fingers.

“Power, eventually, realized their mistake in trying to force Change, and set about making something that could bring him back by his interest, and not by Power’s force. He created the mind stone. As he guessed, the little gem, which had taken eons to create, peaked Change’s interest, and so the River came flowing back for a brief period, and the Natural was happy to see them both in the same place.” The orange and purple balls have coalesced into human forms again, with a tiny, glowing yellow stone between them.

“But Change had gotten a taste of the wandering, and they wished for more, so eventually, he began to flow further. Power was angered by it, and sought to lock Change up with them, forever. Once Change was gathered so closely into one space, he was able to create the second of the infinity gems: the space stone, or the tesseract, and vanished through a hole in reality.” Vision’s face seems haggard for a moment, before he washes his expression away, eyes still caught on the drama playing out in miniature between Loki’s hands.

“Power was furious, and they created a great deal of sentient life, gifting each one with a mind, then controlling them. He sent them out, all fleet of foot, to find and capture Change for him. In this way, they were both the first to use the mind stone correctly, as well as incorrectly. Change was not weak though, it is, in some ways, stronger than Power, because while the latter must gather in one place to be effective, Change may occur anywhere. It may spark anything, it’s branches are so numerous.”

“Power required something else to capture Change, and so they created a second infinity stone, the power stone, which would arm their creatures and allow them to do more to corral their lost companion. Change, ever pursued, fled faster, and faster, to the point that Natural, who had, until this point, stayed out of it, began to worry that Change would outpace even them.” Now, tiny yellow figures ran after the rivers, blocking them where they could, and stretching farther and farther away from Loki and Vision. 

“Natural went to Power and begged for them to cease, but Power was angry, and would not be appeased nor reasoned with. They sent Natural away. Angered by Power’s incessant need to control what would not be controlled, Natural gathered itself and created the fourth infinity gem: the time stone. With it, the Natural turned from Power and fled after Change, who by this point was almost too far gone to reach.

“Power’s forces had done their job well, because Change was all but captured, only the tiniest of its tributaries still flowing on. Natural went to Change and made a deal with them. If Change would end the hunt, then Sky Natural would help them do it.

“Natural then turned on Power, as per their bargain, and began to freeze the time around Power’s forces, so that Change could flow away once more. Change drew itself in once more and created the fifth infinity gem: the Soul Stone. With it, Change gave heart to each of Power’s creatures, and with it, Change dismantled Power’s perfect army.” The yellow figures clutch their head, tiny mouths opening in anguished screams. 

“This enraged Power, and he began to destroy billions upon billions of eons of growth and creation, no longer seeking to possess. He only wanted to make Change and Natural pay. The two fled once more, and without the heartlessness of his forces, he could only chase, but he could not catch, and he certainly couldn’t collect payment.” the landscape Loki had drawn in light begins to rupture and crack in places. 

“But this was not the deal that Change and Natural made, and so Change gathered even more of themself than last time, and on the eve when Power would have caught them both and gotten his way, Change created the sixth and final infinity gem: the Reality Stone. With it, Change turned back the blackness that had festered in Power’s rage, and with it, they turned back the hurt in Change, and the loneliness in Natural, so that they could once more try again.

“Before that could happen though, Change took one more step to ensure that they never hurt each other like this again, and granted each of them a soul via the soul stone, and a higher sort of mind that was geared towards creating, not possessing or destroying. 

“Once the three meshed, their long awaited joining created a home for a tiny little thing that they made together; one that would depend on the River Change to water it, the Sun Power to warm it, and the Sky Natural to give it breath. That little thing grew into Yggdrasil.” A peaceful landscape, with an orange sky, purple rivers, and green air developed out of the ruin, with a small tree growing alone on the plain.

“Their quarrel was not forgotten, merely overcome, which is why the roots of Yggdrasil and all of its people contain the darkness of Power’s rage, there are places that the Sky Natural cannot see, and why Change is often as destructive as it is creative.”

“And the infinity stones?” Vision asks. 

“They were used for eons by the three original gods to create all manner of life, and then it was their great game and their greatest achievement to see what became of it. The gems were forgotten, in time, some lost in the roots, some carried away by wind and rain, all sought after time and again by those seeking power or change or to turn things back to the way the naturally should be.”

“So you are of the River Change?” Loki nods.

“I am much more like her than most Asgardians are; they call me skywalker, sometimes, because I walk between realms, when it pleases me.”

“What are most Asgardians?”

“They are of the Sun Power, and many have let that go to their heads, though I am certainly no better. 

“And humans?”

“They are a peculiar mix of all three. The elves of Alfheim are much more of the Sky Natural than most, and Humans are rather intriguing because they seem to be balanced between the three. If we live long enough for me to keep this promise, I will take you to see these things, so that you may understand better,” Loki says, and he’s almost fond when he looks at Vision. Then his gaze slides away, and his face morphs into something else entirely.

“Your mortal, the one who has fallen asleep listening to me, has as much Power as he does Change in him, and it has brought him far. I am glad he understood the correct use of the mind stone, even if he did not know precisely what he knew.” Vision looks over at where Tony’s asleep now, hair long and wild around his shoulders.

“He does not sleep very well,” Vision says, because he knows that much. Loki nods, breathing the sweet scent that’s begun to waft over from under the blanket across the mortal’s legs.

“No, I don’t suppose he does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely sure how this chapter turned out, guys. I would really appreciate it if you'd let me know.  
> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
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> Special Announcement 6.22.2018
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> Due to technical difficulties, the Etsy I’m working on will be up and running next Friday.


	7. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Tony smell good to each other. Things are much more tense on Steve, Clint, and Natasha's side of things.

Vision’s being back at the Compound makes Tony happy. First of all, Loki has something to occupy him that isn’t Tony. Secondly, it’s made the witch jumpy as all hell. Actually, that might be the other way around. Either way. 

They’re in one of the livingrooms, and Tony’s slowly falling asleep to the soft feel of the sun on his body. Loki is watching him from his own seat on the opposite side of the room. He likes the way the other man smells, all sweet. It’s almost enough to make him think that Stark hides no danger beneath the cat like basking he’s doing.

“I understand why you unnerve them,” Loki says after a moment.

“Hmm,” Tony says. His eyes blink open, brown orbs hazy with his nap. He’s laying out across a massive, curling chaise lounge, looking like a satisfied cat.

“Are you awake, Stark?” Loki asks as he rises and draws near. Tony opens his eyes more fully, blinking up at where Loki stands above him. The V created by his button down looks deeper from this angle.

“You smell nice,” he murmurs, hand reaching out to take Loki’s hand- callused with knife work and magic alike, and turns it over. His eyes stay on the god as Tony presses his nose into Loki’s wrist.

“You didn’t smell like this before.” Loki lowers himself gracefully onto the lounge, so that Tony will stop tugging at him.

“I was not myself, before,” Loki explains. Slowly, Loki lifts another hand up and cups Tony’s jaw, long thumb sliding across beard and skin.

“Do you think I’m not myself now?” Tony asks, because Loki’s hands are big and nice where they slide against his face.

“No, no. In fact, I’d say you are more yourself than you have been for a long time.” Tony’s nodding a bit as he tugs Loki nearer, scooting over so that he can stretch out with him. Under the control of the sun, Loki can’t stop himself from calming, from sliding off the high-strung, electrical mood he’s always in. Tony curls into Loki’s side, presenting his back to the window, his face to the room, and his body to the mage.

“Stay with me.”

“What is this?” Loki murmurs as he lifts his free hand to run along Tony’s long, wavy hair.

“Just want someone to lay with me,” Tony says settling a little more into Loki and falling asleep. Loki tries not to breathe too much, lest the mortal wake. Eventually, though, his measured breathing starts to drag him down, and Loki falls asleep to the beat of the mortal’s heart.

 

…

 

Steve is so confused. Like, really confused. He didn’t think things could get this strange, confused.  

“Are you sure you didn’t misread the situation?” Steve asks. None of this is making any sense.

“I am positive,” Natasha says as she sips from a water bottle. Ever since Tony came back from space (apparently), he’s been stranger, wilder, more odd than before, and he had all those things in spades  to begin with.

“I can see him going with Loki, but with Bucky, too?” he thinks out loud as he tries to predict how this could turn out. 

“Some omegas are known to do things like this. He may be sizing each one up to figure out which is better,” Natasha suggests. It’s been known to happen, though the behavior wasn’t even projected to be in the range of things that Stark would do seriously before his kidnapping. 

“He hates Bucky. With no real good reason, granted, but he hates him.”

“I am not so sure he ever hated Bucky,” Natasha counters.

“You? Yes. With a very good reason. But he and Bucky have a very similar experience of being operated on without consent, and waking up with new pieces in their bodies and old ones missing. Had you kept your end of our agreement, they might have even been good friends.”

She had, of course, known of the Starks’ murders, as well as the culprit, and they’d talked of what they should do with the news, when they’d caught a moment alone. In the end, it had made more sense for Steve to tell Tony. The omega’s first experience with Steve had been explosive, yes, but his first run-in with Natasha had been one built on lies. 

If she had told him, he would have doubted, and he would have taken it worse than if Steve had told him. The mutual pain the two shared at the truth might have bridged some of the chasmatic distance between the two. If, that is, Steve had told the truth when he said he would.

In fact, the reason Stark is so resistant to letting things go is because of Steve’s cowardice. Natasha, truth be told, had been a bit of a coward, too. Stark had always taken up too much space. He was too loud, spastic, bright, and burning. She hadn’t wanted to deal with telling him, but she also never said she would, either.

“There was never a good time-”

“There was never a good time to tell you that everyone you loved was either dead or dying,” she hisses, and Steve flinches, “but someone told you. There are things that do not have right times, only less wrong times, and you knew that from the beginning. The civil war was a shit show and you helped make that happen.” Natasha doesn’t say that she should have tried to stop him. Doesn’t say what her betrayal meant to Stark.

She was always going to betray him, after all. It had been there from the moment the two met. That Stark ever trusted her was foolish, and she knows he won’t make that mistake for a second time. Steve, however, was something different.

The two had met like steel on steel, and continued to be that to each other. What they had could have been great, had Steve kept his promise to her and fucking told Stark that his parents had been killed by Bucky fucking Barnes. And now Steve is all but paranoid, asking her for information on Bucky because the Soldier will not be curbed in his wanderings, nor will he accept a baby sitter.

It had been pure chance that Natasha had seen Tony come down off the roof, Bucky walking dazed and calm behind him. She had not realized that he was up there, too. She almost wished she had snuck up after Bucky, but she would have been discovered. She doubts she wasn’t at least a little bit found out, regardless of the care she took.

In business and politics, Tony had been known to play games, and just as often play several different games at the same time. It was in his file, and the several different SHIELD agents who’d been tasked to write about him or work with him for a while had all observed that the tendency was an extension of how fast his mind moves, and him just needing something to fill it when he couldn’t get away to his workshop.

It is possible that his solution for the tension that never seems to go away at the Compound is to ramp it up, and see how much of an explosion Stark can get from it. It would make sense, that way. After all, Loki is a known villain, and Natasha doesn’t trust him as far as she can throw him. 

“It’s just… Bucky and Loki?” Steve asks, something like anguish in his voice. Natasha shrugs.

“We do not know if he is even an alpha anymore, Steve.”

“How could he not be an alpha?” he asks, and that look intensifies. Natasha shrugs a shoulder.

“How could he have a metal arm that works just like a real one? Hydra did many things. It would not surprise me if he had changed secondary genders.” Steve is already shaking his head.

“That can’t be it. It can’t be- he’s an alpha. You know that, Nat.”

“He doesn’t act like an alpha,” Nat notes, no more inclined to spare Steve the truth than he was to give it to Tony.

“He just needs time to get back to how things are supposed to be.” Natasha doesn’t bother saying anything to that. Nothing is how it’s supposed to be, and they’re both to blame for that.

“Just keep watching them,” Steve says after a while.

“FRIDAY will only tolerate so much,” Natasha says.

“What are you saying?” Steve asks, and he turns to look at her, and she thinks she knows how Tony felt whenever Steve looked at him. He’s so full of expectation, but with a tinge of disappointment. Natasha has never been on the receiving end of one of these looks, but she is now.

“I’m saying that maybe it’s better to wait and see what happens. You’re going up against a literal genius; you cannot expect him to allow himself to be watched so easily,” she says after a moment.

“He’s... _ playing _ with Bucky.”

“And who are you to stop him? Steve, we lied to him. Lied like his godfather lied to him, then you, in all your wisdom,” Natasha is getting mad now, pushing herself up off the chair to come to face to face, “left him. To die. In the cold. It is by the grace of people I don’t believe exist that we are back, and if you were smart, you would let Loki distract him. He hasn’t hurt Bucky, and he has ever right to.”

“He hurt him in Siberia,” Steve insists.

“So did you. I hurt him at the airport. Clint hurt him when he was at the raft. We have no right to tell him who he can and cannot run his games with. I will not let you jeopardize our entire lives because of a mess we made. Stand down, Steve. Try and have a little faith in the man. It’s high time you gave it.” Natasha turns on her heel and stalks out of the room, red hair swishing as she goes.

Truth be told, she had thought that, no matter how this thing with Steve and Tony went down, they would both come in from the cold, and work out their differences from there. Didn’t think it was in Steve to do it any other way. Not after the fiasco with the Winter Soldier. But to find that Steve had actually left Tony, well, it had thrown her entire perception of the Civil War off balance.

Natasha can admit, in the quiet of her own head, that she had made a very fatal miscalculation about Steve Rogers. She had thought that he was one to stick up for his friends, as in plural. It had made sense, between SHIELD and his constant search for Bucky, despite the man’s decidedly more trigger-happy tendencies. 

So Natasha, in the moment of truth, had thrown her lot in with the one person who she knew could bring them all back together. It couldn’t have been Tony who did that one, after all. Sure, the man had housed them, and clothed them, but she has been around, and even lain with, billionaires and trillionaires before, and she knows how easy these things come to them. 

But things had blown up so fast, and Tony had been uncharacteristically compliant with the Powers That Be, and Natasha thought he had broken from his tendency to have the most power in any given situation. So she had gone with the one who was still in their pattern.

But she had been wrong. It wasn’t that Steve would protect his friends. It was that Steve would protect his friend. It’s just one letter, but it cost her everything. It was only at her urging that they were even back on US soil, Bucky in tow, to begin with. Now that Natasha knew (sort of) where Tony was going with the company he keeps, she could control the most unstable part of this very bad equation. She would have to keep Steve in check, or it would cost them all everything. 

She would not make that mistake again.

 

…

 

She finds Clint on the range, like he always is these days. Whenever her long-time friend picks up his bow and arrows, it’s a stream of consciousness that she knows better than to interrupt. So she leans against the glass of the viewing window, and watches him sink arrow after arrow into target after target.

When the room flashes and shuts down, Clint curses. She understands where he’s coming from. Having Loki back for him is like having Wanda back for Bruce, or having her back for Tony, she supposes. Still, needs must.

“Clint,” Natasha says as she makes her way towards him. Sweat leaves a fine, glossy sheen down his arms, and she realizes that the range shut down because he’d passed the parameters for how long he can be here without stopping. That’s a bad sign, but it’s predictable.

“What?” he bites out.

“Walk with me.” he follows, but only because he can’t stay and look at the inactive range. So he slings his arrows and his bow over his back and follows her. She leads him out of the Compound, and out across the yard at a leisurely pace. They’re old friends. Old friends take walks.

She leads him to a little garden thing, with stone benches and tall, willowy bamboo to provide privacy. She’s already checked this place over for bugs, and she knows there aren’t any.

“Sit,” she tells him, and the two sink down. They're out of sight of the entrance, but can still see anyone coming.

“What do you want?” he says.

“We need to regroup,” she murmurs.

“Tell me about it. But what are we supposed to do? Steve is so caught up with fucking Bucky that he doesn’t even care how the rest of us are doing. An actual god is evidently high enough on the food chain to take Wanda’s powers, and Vision’s avoiding her because she put him through twelve floors of concrete. Something she blames me for, by the way.”

“Well she did do that because you told her she needed to go.”

“But she’s always been like that, you know? I didn’t realize she was actually going to hurt

Vision until the man was sinking.”

“She  _ has _ always been like that,” Natasha agrees, “It’s just that only Stark and Banner payed that any mind.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Clint asks. There had been a massive fight between Tony and Steve on whether or not Wanda should join the team. Clint had thrown his lot in with Wanda’s out of guilt for her brother’s death, and because he’d seen many a baby agent with that same fire, that same look in their eyes as she had. It’s the look they get when they survive a bad mission and the guy they cared the most about bit the dust in it. 

He’d seen that, and he’d let it compromise him. By the time he realized that second part, he’d been travelling with a dangerously powerful mage, and it was already too late.

“Because I thought Steve was just being Steve.”

“And now?”

“If we accepted Wanda, we should be able to accept Bucky, right?” Natasha asks, and Clint’s nodding. Nat knows things are sliding into place for him the same way it did for her.

“So we need to keep Tony, Steve, and Bucky from doing anything dangerous, and we need to make sure Wanda stays steady.” That’s what it boils down to, really. If Loki was as mad as he says he was (and Clint’s inclined to believe him. That staff was some powerful shit), then they’re in the same boat. Clint doesn’t like it, but he can put aside his gut-tightening worry to do damage control, and beat out any bad ideas Steve and Wanda might have.

“Yeah. How this next year goes is probably going to determine the rest of our lives,” Natasha says, “and I am not willing to fuck this up again.” Clint is nodding.

“I owe the man an apology.”

“We all do, but Steve’s a lost cause on this, and it would be cruel to ask Stark to be friends with Wanda. You, though, you have a shot. Don’t miss it, Clint.” Natasha rises and goes to walk away, Clint watching her leave.

He wonders when Natasha started caring about what was cruel and what wasn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 7.3.2018:
> 
> Yes, I know. I’m really, really late. Teenagers, right? In any case, it’s gotten to the end of a hard month, and I had a lot on my plate, and something had to give. In related, better news, Friday is still the update day, and this Friday will have all updates coming out on time. 
> 
> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
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> 
> Announcement 7.3.2018:
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> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :)


	8. Laying the Groundwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha isn't the only one who thinks Wanda should leave Vision alone. Loki goes to get a problem of his fixed.

Stark’s in New York with Pepper, and Loki has disappeared for one of his all-day (read: week) meditation thingies, and Wanda gets fed up. With both of her problems out of the way for a while, she’s in a better mood than usual. She takes care to make sure she looks good, but not too good, before she leaves her room and closes her eyes.

She can feel everyone in the compound, including Vision. Wanda heads towards the kitchen, knowing the android is likely cooking. His back is to her, and the smell of bacon is wafting out of is pan. Clint is sitting at the table, a cup of coffee and not much else in front of him. The only one who drinks as much coffee as he does is Stark, and Wanda’s trying not to think about Stark.

“Hey, Vis,” Wanda says and she can’t help her voice being softer for him than it is for anyone else. She knows Clint’s watching, and that Clint’s gonna tell Natasha, who will tell Steve. Steve keeps telling her she should leave Vision alone, that the other man’s too young, and that the whole Civil War hit him hard, but Stark has Vision’s ear, and Stark is poison to anything she wants. 

If Vision is going to forgive her, someone besides Stark will have to say something. 

“Miss Maximoff,” Vision says without turning around. Wanda can’t miss the fact that he still gives her his back, even when he knows she wants to talk to him.

“That smells good.”

“It always does, at some point,” Vision says, but he doesn’t elaborate. Before the Civil War, it seemed that he and Wanda had almost stumbled on a sense of humor that worked for both of them, but now Vision’s not even trying.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.” Vision flips the bacon. Wanda lets him think it through. People always gave him pause.

“They always are, I think.” Clint isn’t reacting, and Wanda can’t get him to leave, so the shame that burns in her at how cold Vision is just gets more potent, the longer he sits there, drinking coffee.

“Vis-”

“Miss Maximoff, it may have escaped your awareness, but I do not wish to have a conversation,” Vision cuts her off. Wanda wonders if he blames her for Stark’s disappearance.

“I just wanted to make things okay,” she tries one last time.

“You can’t,” Vision replies. A part of Wanda seems to jump off a cliff at the statement. Vision never was one to mince words.

 

…

 

Natasha leans against the outside wall of the Compound, on the lee side of the building. Wanda stops when she sees her. The witch keeps her hands shoved in her pocket, the air to crisp and cold to do more than shiver and watch the spider to see what she wants. Natasha jerks her head, and leads Wanda away from the building, where there are no cameras.

“What do you want?” Wanda asks, and she can’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. She and Natasha had never actually clashed, but the spy had never seemed to like her, or trust her at all.

“I want you to leave Vision alone,” Natasha says as she turns back to face her once they’re in some kind of enclosure artfully created from willowy bamboo polls. Wanda can’t tell if they’re even alive.

“Why?” 

“Look around you,” Natasha says after a moment. Wanda just watches her.

“There’s a fully trained mage, and he likes Vision, as well as Tony. I think trying to get at either of them is a sure recipe for disaster.”

“Since when have you ever cared about disaster, Natalia?” Wanda asks, her russian coming out thick and angry. “You care for yourself.”

“Exactly, and it’s currently too late to separate me from you, which means that we are, for better or worse, in this together. You help no one by pushing Vision.”

“Why do you even care? Why not just encourage me, so that I’ll do something no one wants, like Clint did at the Compound? Then you can say I told her so.”

“You love pretending to have so little control, but you have as much control as you want to have,” Natasha says, her voice cold and clinical. “And to answer your question, there’s something else coming. I can sense it. When it gets here, things will have to be put by the wayside. Your snafu with Vision is one of them.”

“And you?”

“Never mind me. I already burned my bridges,” Natasha responds. Then she rises, and stalks back towards the building. Briefly, Wanda considers sliding into her head to see what she has planned, to see what other people she’s encouraging, or discouraging, but then she remembers Loki, and his threat. 

Normally, she would disregard such empty words, but she knows what he’s talking about when he says things like the Sun Power, and she knows that the threat he gave was not a fake one, so she keeps her hands and her powers to herself, and considers taking Natasha’s advice. If anyone’s going to get them through, after all, it’s going to be her.

It sure as hell isn’t going to be Steve, with his constant mooning over Stark like the man won’t sell them out again in a second. Coupled with him hypocritically telling her that Vision is “too hurt” by the Civil War to see past the hardships to the beautiful thing they have, and Wanda finds herself fast losing respect for the other man.

 

…

 

Truth be told, Strange didn’t really bet on this. I mean, he should have, technically speaking, seen this coming, but he didn’t. When he’d originally heard that Loki and Thor were back on earth, he’d had his suspicions, but he’d also had his suspicions when a guy who was supposed to be a mass murderer and batshit crazy also got his father out of the way without killing him. Strangely precise for a guy who likes rampage and speeches of burdens of glorious purpose. 

So he had hung back, and watched, and waited. And then things went a little screwball in the multiverse, and Loki’s utter lack of murder-related schemes convinced him to focus on the actual crisis, so no, he wasn’t watching. 

So, yeah, Loki manages to surprise him. He’s there one day, striding into the New York Sanctum, nothing on his face, eyes sliding over things like he doesn’t understand them. Stephen’s willing to bet that Loki is seeing far too much. He’s tempted to send the bastard falling again, but the door had let him in, and it doesn’t look like there was any tampering (or the whole house would have thrown a bitch fit). 

So Stephen appears, cold and irritated, at the top of the stairs. Cloak is snug around his shoulders, and she isn’t pissy about Loki’s presence either. Odd.

“Why are you here?” Stephen asks, and he’s already irritated. There’s something stiller about this Loki. Something he hasn’t seen before. He doesn’t like it.

“The same reason most strangers would wander in, I believe.”

“And why is that?” 

“I need an exorcism.” 

Stephen snorts.

“Oh no, really,” Loki says calmly. God, why isn’t he reacting?

“An exorcism you need from me?” Loki nods. From nowhere, he produces a small journal.

“This is for you,” Loki says as he holds the little book out. 

“What?”

“Payment. I believe it’s not quite transferrable into midgardian funds, but you’ll never get this from anywhere else.” Loki’s looking at Stephen now, and something uncomfortable shifts in Stephen’s stomach. He pays a little more attention to Loki’s scent, but the man just smells like something cold, and like smoke.

“Why do you need an exorcism from me?” Stephen asks. It’s obvious why anyone would need an exorcism, but from Stephen Strange? There’s only a handful of people Strange ever considered hanging, even before his accident, and Loki’s one of them. The mage has got to know that. Sense that, at least.

“Because most people draw their power from the same place I draw mine. Everywhere I go, it’s just variations on a theme. But you don’t, and your librarian doesn’t. Between the two of you, I believe you could do it.”

“What are you getting rid of?” Strange asks. An exorcism is normally used in cases of demonic possessions (which is often just extradimensional mischief). In some case, it’s interworld issues because someone (again) was not being careful.

“The voices. I’m not sure when exactly they started. Sometime between my father falling into the Odinsleep and me attempting to murder my brother. They got worse after I dropped from the bifrost. After that, I’m afraid I don’t know. Time in the Void is not like time elsewhere, but you probably already knew that part,” Loki says, drawing closer. Stephen’s hardly noticing his movement.

“When I was here for the second time, they were everywhere. Laughing at me whenever I used the mind stone.”

“Why?”

“It was in direct confrontation with my native magic. The mind stone is the gift of the mind, not the control of one. I could feel it, weakening the river change, blocking its tributaries. Making the sickness stronger. And then a giant green monster slammed me into the ground, and they went away long enough for me to think clearly again. At least for a little while. 

“I’ve been like that ever since. They’re always there, haunting me, whispering behind my back about things that I don’t understand, or things I understand too well,” Loki has reached the bottom of the stairs, and he’s looking up at Stephen, but somehow, it feels as if their positions are reversed.

“I’ve tried everything to get rid of it. But even the Odin Force could do nothing to them. This book, in case you were wondering, is a chronicle of my attempts, which is why you won’t get the knowledge in here from anywhere else.”

“How do you know I won’t just off you?” Stephen asks. He takes another step down. Distantly, he’s aware of Wong watching, eyes sharp and shrewd. It doesn't make him feel any better about this.

“Because Thanos is coming, and your best chance to stop him is surrounded by his enemies, and your only source of working knowledge on the Mad Titan never wrote anything down. Go ahead. Off me. At least I’ll finally get to rest. But know that if you do, you’ll have to burn everything with any sort of spellwork at all, anything I use regularly, plus my corpse. Not only that, but you’ll have to do it in a way that means nothing to you. 

“I suppose all of that isn’t hard. I’ve done it before myself, after all. But you’ll also have to purify my quarters, which are practically crawling with spellwork, the sort of which you don’t have the faintest clue about. You’ll have to give Thor a good reason for why you randomly killed me without sufficient provocation, and then you’ll have to bar him from being at my cremation. You’ll have to keep him or anyone who might care or wish to manipulate him from keeping any ashes of anything in any way or any measure. 

“If you don’t, I’ll likely be reanimated, since that’s exactly what I don’t want, and if that happens, I promise you, I’ll have enough spite to go for you first.” Loki smiles, the line of his mouth jagged.

“But, please, go ahead. I would love to see you pull that off. If you do, I’ll be laughing in Hel. And if you don’t, well, I’ll still be laughing in Hel.”

“And if the exorcism kills you?”

“There’s a good chance that it might. If it does, don’t worry about it. If it kills me, that means there wasn’t enough left to save in the first place. So. The book for an exorcism?” Stephen realizes that he’s just a step above Loki now, and he doesn’t know how he got down the remaining eight steps or so.

“Yeah, a book for an exorcism.” Loki offers his hand, gaze a little heavier with something. Stephen looks down, and he sees a run in his palm. He arches his eyebrows, questioning.

“You didn’t think you could make a deal with the God of Mischief without being bound to your word?” Loki sounds a little playful, and Stephen wonders if this is why Loki always sounded like before he lost his fucking mind. 

So Stephen grasps his hand, and it seems like he’s entirely burning, and yet not, at the same time. It only last a moment before:

“Well, I suppose it’s time to see how much of me is left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
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	9. Hell and High Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gets his operation done. Tony goes to see an old friend. People are less than happy with this development.

Loki strips jewelry that Stephen hadn’t even know he’d had on into a stone bowl and deposited several different weapons on top of that, he disappears into a stone room and comes out with his clothing folded in a neat pile, his boots hanging by their tops from one hand. In its place, he’s got on naught but a cotton tunic and loose pants.

Like this, he looks younger, more vulnerable, and Stephen wonders how much of him is really calm and how much of him is resigned to die today. Loki sets the clothing on top of the weapons, and the boots on the floor. Stephen and Wong take him to another barren room, surrounded  by magic, but not actually possessing any itself. 

Loki walks into the middle of the room and pauses before he turns to look at Stephen.

“Watch out for Stark. The witch is scared enough that she has yet to try anything, but she is young, and very stupid. Know that the use of her powers to tamper with anyone’s mind without due cause warrants her losing them.

“Why?”

“Because that kind of abuse goes directly against the River Change, which is where my power comes from. It’s more merciful if you do it. Then you don’t have to worry about real witches showing up to exact justice on her. The things I said about the burning stands.” Loki’s silent for a moment, eyes taking in stone one last time before they settle on Stephen, calm and quiet.

“I’m ready, now.” Stephen thinks that maybe he considers this his noose. Stephen meets Wong’s gaze and nods. 

“Brace yourself, then.” Suddenly, Loki’s gaze snaps to his, alive and fiery again.

“As hard as you can, Strange. Burn it all.” Stephen raises his hands at the same time Wong does. They’re on opposite sides of the room, the door closed and between them.  Stephen doesn’t worry about what Loki might see, if he knows how to read the tremors that run through his hands from more than the nerve damage.

He just concentrates on the formation of the runes, on the beautiful amber lines and circles. He focuses on the complications of layering spells one on top of the other, and makes sure he keeps in tune with Wong. They’re up to ten layers- more than what any demon could stand- when Loki begins to sweat. He just raises his head and closes his eyes, bare feet planted on the stones and locks his hands in front of his hips.

The styling of his hair seems to evaporate at the same time as his glamour, so that deep, midnight skin with raised lines all over them appears at the same time as the wild, unkempt waves do. They’re twenty layers in the first time Loki’s knees start to give out, but he grits his teeth, determined to be strong until the end. 

They get up to twenty five before Loki can no longer stay standing. At thirty he’s sitting on his calves, sweat pouring off his body more and more of his magic burning away. Thirty two layers, and frost is snaking out like targeted missiles, exploding into beautiful, if transient patterns where it touches walls and melting on the spot when it gets near the spell work. 

He’s keeling over to the right side, body thinning right before Stephen and Wong’s eyes. At forty layers of spellwork, sweat is pouring off all three of them. Loki’s coughing up blood by the mouthful. Vomit is coming out of his mouth too with what looks like coffee grinds, but they don’t stop. More and more magic is forced out of Loki, and the first strangled groan comes out of his mouth. 

Loki’s hands, where Stephen can see them, are beginning to look thinner and thinner. He drops his head, gasping. His own magic is twisting over his skin, writhing in various shades of green before bursting with legitimate flames. Along with that, though, are strange tendrils of black, vein-like, things that come out with the magic and burn with it. 

Screams that aren’t coming from Loki are echoing around the room, and Stephen briefly feels bad for making him fall for thirty minutes. He keeps going, though, adding more layers to the exorcism. 

Fifty layers, and Loki can’t hold in his own sounds no more, and he’s coughing and vomiting and crying and everything is burning. He collapses onto his side, finally, wheezing, a little blood still coming out of his mouth and nose and ears, but it’s mostly drying. His body is done for, looking skeletal, and only getting thinner.

They keep going, though, because things are still coming out of him, crawling and almost black-like against his blue skin, his red eyes leaking onto the stone floor. He’s barely breathing. His face is slack, and still there is more magic to burn. 

Seventy layers in, and the magic begins to taper. The room is covered with the imprints of Loki’s frost and magic that burned out as it hit the walls but went no further. 

Seventy six, and they’re finally done. Loki’s hair is much longer, and covered with sweat and dirt and bodily fluids. Stephen lets his magic taper out when there’s nothing moving and all the fluids have dried.

At the end of it all, Loki is just a hair’s breadth away from death, but alive he is. They get him bathed, and dressed in another set of clothes, and then they leave him to recover in another barren, stone room. Loki does not stir. 

Tired as they are, Stephen and Wong then purify the entire room where Loki was, then they burn his clothing and jewelry and boots, in case there was anything on them that might undue all their work. Loki may have survived once, but Stephen wouldn’t bet a single fucking penny on him getting through this twice.

 

…

 

Loki doesn’t wake up for four days. Stephen is worried, but he’s monitoring Loki, and so far it looks like sleep is doing him good. Stephen is a little apprehensive. If he loses his magic, he’s going to be entire worlds’ worth of knowledge in an unprotected head. With a warlord on the way, and every bastard on this side of the universe with a vendetta against the heir apparent of Asgard, that presents a serious problem. 

Too valuable to kill, too vulnerable to leave, too untrustworthy to keep. Stephen seriously hopes the man gets his magic back. Right the fuck yesterday. 

When he does wake up, Stephen is in the room. Some sense of paranoia that word could have gotten out, and also worry that the man could flatline while no one is there, has him spending his reading time in the room.

Loki wakes up with a barely restrained gasp, his nostrils flaring as his chest moves rapidly, and Stephen watches the man’s thin, thin hands. Wild green eyes meet his, and then:

“Who are you?”

 

…

 

Bruce is just passing through, so he doesn’t really know how Tony found him. But one moment, the forest is quiet and hot and humid, and in another, Tony is sitting in a tree, strangely at home even though he’s so far away from anything him.

“Tony,” Bruce says, and he’s a little worried, a little apprehensive, but Tony never did do anything he didn’t have to.

“Bruce,” Tony says, and the shadows of the jungle make his face harder to pick out, but Bruce doesn’t miss how his face looks younger. The years of stress and wear not showing where they used to, though the physical scars certainly do. 

Bruce knows there’s no one here; knows that Tony could never bring what Bruce fears here, so he steps forward and folds Tony into a hug. Tony folds into him, something like strain, something like pressure ebbing back. They’ll come in again, and they’ll pile on. Tony will adjust his shoulders, and the lines of his clothes will fall naturally along his body, and then no one will ever know how much of a weight he carries.

Bruce knew, once upon a time. He ran when he realized that he wasn’t helping. Not himself and not Tony. 

“Heard you took a trip, too.”

“Yeah. A few years, I think. How did you-”

“I have a solution,” Tony says, cutting him off. He smells different to Bruce. Like he’s older. Like he has something else in him now. Bruce doesn’t know if the thing in him are good or bad, and decides he likes it, regardless. He never could avoid liking Tony. 

“What’s that?” Tony starts to move, but he doesn’t move away. Instead he does something with his arms, and then Bruce can feel something settle around his neck.

“What is this?” Bruce murmurs. He doesn’t move away from Tony to look. It’s already been too long, so he’ll take this as long as Tony lets him have it.

“I’ve been away too.”

“How long?” Bruce asks. He knows how time goes.

“Seventeen years,” Tony responds. He says it like a secret, almost like he is in a confessional and there is lattice-worked metal between them. 

But there is no hiding, and it’s no sin to stand there in a jungle and hug an old friend.

“I found things. I was. Gifted things,” he says, and he only pauses like that when it’s personal. He only ever got like this once or twice.  

“What things?” Bruce says, because Tony hates to be reminded that sometimes Bruce can read him. That sometimes Bruce has been around him enough to know what he’s thinking. Bruce doesn’t ask where Tony got this thing that he’s just placed around Bruce’s neck. He’ll tell him when and if he’s ready. 

“Something to keep people out of my head. It was a gift. And an investment,” Tony says into Bruce’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind that Bruce smells like sweat. He doesn’t seem to mind that there’s dirt on his, and now their, clothes. 

“Was it?” Bruce murmurs. He knows what this is for, now.

“It’s stood up to things more powerful than Wanda could ever be.”

“Do you want me back?” Bruce murmurs.

“Yes,” Tony says. The word is quiet.

“What happened while I was gone, Tony?” Bruce asks. All he hears nowadays is how Tony had been missing, and what moochers the Exvengers were. It’s hard to get a clear picture, but Bruce is going to need it if he’s going to go back. 

So he and Bruce start to walk. Tony leads, because Bruce is aimless, and Tony has plans, and as they go, Tony tells Bruce about everything that happened three months before he disappeared. 

 

…

 

Steve stands, rooted like a tree to his spot in front of the TV. 

_ “Breaking news, it looks like the final original Avenger, Doctor Brian Bruce Banner, AKA the Hulk, was just spotted ducking into a car behind tech mogul and Iron Man: Tony Stark. We go now to the scene at Stark Tower, where the three were caught unawares on the steps to the entrance.” _

_ “Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark, why did you bring the Hulk back?” _

_ “No comment,” Tony says. _

_ “Mr. Stark! Are you sure it’s a good idea to have the Hulk back after Johannesburg?” _

_ “No comment,” Tony says again. He and Pepper both have a hand on Bruce as they three push through the crowd, and Bruce himself seems older by decades, though he looks just the same. That bodyguard that used to spend a lot of time around Stark- Happy Hogan?- is close by them. _

_ “Miss Potts! Will SI stocks dip again with the Hulk returning from the unknown?’ _

_ “His name is Doctor Banner,” Pepper gets out, before she, too, continues to answer every question with a no comment. The three disappear into the building, where security keeps anyone from following.  _

“Natasha?” Steve calls, on the off chance that she is near. She usually is, whenever he’s watching TV. 

“What?” Natasha calls from the small kitchenette off this particular living room.

“Bruce is back,” Steve says as he follows the sound of her voice. Her hands stop moving, but they are still on the container of yogurt. Steve looks at the various berries and the container of gelato. She must be making a parfait, going by the layers already in the tall glass.  Natasha gives him a look, then her head lists slightly to the side.

“What we had isn’t that big a deal, Steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he doesn’t believe her, “but I thought it’d be better for you to know beforehand.”

“Thank you,” natasha says, and then she goes back to her dessert. Steve wonders when she got that cold. He used to be able to read her, but now all he gets these days is that solid wall of non-emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)


	10. Potential Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce comes back.

Bruce doesn’t get back to upstate New York for a couple of days more. As Steve feared, Tony is practically glued to him. The omegas scent is calmer, happier, and Bruce himself is no Alpha, though the hulk is, so it kind of makes sense to Steve for those two to be stuck together. Privately, though, he kind of wishes that Bruce and Natasha had bonded as much as he’d thought they did. Maybe they could have avoided this whole thing. 

In any case, yeah, Bruce is back, but so is Tony. 

There’s some distance between them, but it’s minimal, and Tony honestly just wants to get rid of it entirely. But Bruce indulged him by spending the last couple of days in bed, so he’s doing alright, now. Alright enough to keep his face neutral when he meets Natasha’s gaze. 

“Hey, Tony?” Steve asks, and he always asks. These days he’s always so hesitant that Tony wonders if maybe he was an abused dog in a past life and maybe that’s just now coming to light. 

“What,” Tony says, and it isn’t a question, just the polite thing to say. Steve looks ready to run away, and it wouldn’t be the first time someone’s looked at Tony like that. 

“Just wondering if we could talk.”

“Walk and talk,” Tony says, and he keeps his tone brisk. There’s a flash of brown hair, and he knows Bucky’s nearby, possibly in one of the elevator doors. He saw a light blink at the end of the hallway. Steve doesn’t try to stop Tony. There’s too many people here. Just one that he cares about, though. Natasha’s here, not saying anything, just watching Bruce and Tony and the distance between them. It’s like they’re bricks, and she’s trying to figure out if that space is mortar or a crack. 

Tony and Bruce and Steve get into an elevator, and Tony smooths a hand down over his suit jacket. It’s a nervous tick, but it doesn’t look at it. Seventeen years, and he’s still a little scared, a little anxious. Well. He’s always anxious, it’s just he’s been in tighter spots than this. 

“I was just wondering if we could do this in private,” Steve asks, and he loves it when it’s private, Tony knows. Then he can twist the story. 

“You have until we reach my lab,” Tony says, and Bruce doesn’t even flinch. He’s been in tenser spots than this, and he’s got something for the worst of it, so he can handle the rest of it, and he’ll make the best of it, this time. No more being a weak link everywhere but the battlefield. 

“I just wanted to know if Bucky’s okay. He’s avoiding me, and he’s not sleeping, but he seems to like you.” Tony catches his gaze and let’s his stare linger. Let’s the pressure in the carriage build for just a second too long.

The elevator doors open behind Steve, on the lowest floor he’s got clearance to be on. There’s a moment, where the doors have opened, and FRIDAY’s already asked Steve to leave, cause she no more cares for him than Tony does. Steve opens his mouth to break a silence so awful that it’s got memories of Siberia filtering across both of their heads. But then Tony steps forward, his mouth hitching up in the barest of smiles, head listing in the barest of tilts, and then:

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Something like anger, something like indignation, something like a cringe goes over Steve’s face.

“Tony, please, stop playing games,” Steve asks, and Tony knows he should stop. He should give the game up. Keeping everyone on their toes like this ain’t doing shit for the long run. But, hell, Tony’s always been a bit petty. 

The game had been a good thing when it was Steve playing with their minds and playing with their hearts and playing with their trust and playing with their loyalties. All in the name of keeping secrets, because all of that sure as hell wasn’t about Bucky.

“Why? I thought you liked it like that.” Tony is looking up at Steve, but it feels like he’s towering.

 

…

 

“You are worried,” Loki says, and he says it with no inflection. It’s been two weeks since his exorcism, and he still needs someone to help him bathe. Unfortunately, he was evidently always a paranoid bastard, so he really doesn’t trust anyone except for those he’s had no choice to trust. Which means that either Wong or Stephen must help him when he needs to do something.

And Wong had given him one long look, did an about face, and walked away.

“I am,” Stephen says as he passes the sponge across Loki’s back, the water squeezing out and running down his knobby spine. He’d already had to fend off Thor. The new Asgardian king was just too close to all this to be trusted.  

“Is it because my memories are taking too long to return?”

“Yes,” Stephen says. He doesn’t elaborate. Amnesiac or not, Loki is very sharp, and very observant. It’s best not to give him more than Stephen has to. 

“They are returning, you know. I am remembering things with no context, but they will fill in, I believe.” Loki has gained just enough strength to stand while Stephen gets him a towel. He has to help him out, and tries not to read anything into how Loki grips his shoulder with his too thin hand and sits still while Stephen gets his clothes. Tries not to think about how he’d finally figured out that Loki is an omega three days ago. 

“Why was I mad?” Stephen starts, then curses himself for starting. But it’s too late now, and Loki’s eyes are pinned, tight and piercing like a needle.

“There were a lot of reasons.”

“Start talking, then.” Stephen looks at him, really looks at him.

“You won’t like it.”

“Do I ever?” Loki says, and Stephen honestly doesn’t know the answer.

 

…

 

“How does my brother fair?” Thor asks one day. Stephen doesn’t know how he figured out where Loki is, but he knows he doesn’t want to tell him that his brother looks like a skeleton and he doesn’t remember even half of his life.

“He’s getting better,” Stephen says, because it’s better to give a positive result than to lie to the god of fucking thunder.

“Is he,” Thor says, and it isn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Show me to him.” Stephen thins his mouth and gives a small shake of his head.

“You would dare deny me?” Thor says, and he’s starting to get angry.  His already straight back seems to get straighter and stiffer.

“Sorry, Thor, but Loki made a bit of a deal with me, and he’s still dealing with the effects of that. I cannot, in good conscious, let you see him,” Stephen says. He still has the image of Loki’s face, last night, long fingers wrapped around his tea cup, face looking almost as thin as it was the day of the exorcism.

“He is the crown prince of Asgard. You cannot keep him from me,” Thor gets out. Lightning has begun to skip across his skin, but Stephen has faced worse things before, and come out alive.

“He did not say he wanted to see you, and he’s currently under my care.” Thor takes a step forward, and knocks into something.

“What is this?”

“The sanctum does not allow harm to those who reside in it, which, by the way, Loki currently does.” Thor raises his face, eyes glowing ethereally for a moment as he looks around. Stephen wonders what he sees.

“Very well. If you have lied to me, Strange, there will be Hel to pay.” Stephen’s tempted to make a joke, here, but he knows that he has just narrowly avoided knock down, drag out cat fight with an actual absolute monarch.

“Is he always like that?” Loki asks. He has been hidden behind the wall while that happened.

“Yes. Or at least, as far as I know.” Stephen turns to walk up the stairs. Automatically, he offers his arm to Loki. The other man is better at walking now, but he’s prone to sudden lapses of balance, so Stephen usually walks with him like this, if it’s the kind of day where they walk.

Again, Stephen tries not to read anything into this. The man is an amnesiac. As soon as he regains all of his memory, he’s going to never want to speak to Stephen again. He certainly isn’t going to want to be reminded of how he was without all the things that made him the way he is on his brain.

To act on anything Stephen is feeling now would be a particular sort of disgusting. Nevermind the fact that, when Loki regains his memory, he will go back to hating him. Seriously. Stephen’s being an idiot. He should just focus on understanding that book Loki gave him.

 

…

 

Four days after Tony and Bruce have gotten back, and Vision is even worse than usual. He leaves whenever Wanda’s coming. These days, she can’t even get into the same room before he’s turning tale. He didn’t used to do this. She could at least rely on saying  _ hello _ to him. 

But now he’s not saying anything, and Wanda feels adrift. Between Stark’s incessant talent of making things difficult, and her own “teams” lack of focus, Wanda feels trapped between a rock and a hard place. 

She can’t even take care of any of her problems, because Steve’s trying to make friends with Stark. Even if she had a way to do anything magical without Loki’s knowledge, Steve would still kill her. The man is just that desperate to make things work. Why Stark even matters like that, Wanda doesn’t know. Or care, really. 

It’s just in her way.

 

…

 

Bruce stands in the full length mirror in his bathroom, looking at himself. He’s got a scar here and there from fights he doesn’t remember; evidently, some aliens do, in fact, leave injuries. There’s track marks up and down either arm from the few times someone’s gotten lucky with a dart with a strong enough sedative. There’s the discoloration on his knuckles from when he’d bashed them. Water runs from his hair and down his chest. 

All in all, though, he looks like how he always does: a little too thin, a little too tired, but very much alive. The necklace that Tony gave him hangs down his body, stopping at just below his navel. It’s an eight-pointed star, and something in Bruce thinks he’s actually seen that symbol somewhere before.

Tin man not well, Hulk says. Bruce touches the necklace, and he thinks that if he didn’t see it, Hulk certainly did.

“No, he’s not,” Bruce murmurs. Tony had started to smell sweeter to Bruce within the last twenty four hours. Bruce wonders if Tony knows what that is or if maybe he’s forgotten, after all that time in space.  Bruce shakes himself and finishes toweling off.

Tony isn’t a baby. He probably does, in fact, know what that is. In typical Tony fashion, though, he’s going to make a mess of things. So Bruce pulls his boxers and jeans on and goes to find Tony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)
> 
> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :)


	11. Kinetic Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky responds to a call of distress. Clint is on board with Natasha's plan. Bruce learns a secret.

Bucky wakes up hot. As fuck. His first thought is that he must be sick, but then he remembers that a) he is a literal super soldier and b) he is literally seventy years past the point where he would have woken up hot and chalked it up to a fever. There’s a fog in his head and it makes it hard to think.

The Soldier has either withdrawn or taken over so much that Bucky doesn’t think getting shot would change what he wants right now. And the Soldier does want, sharply, poignantly, persistently. It’s not so bad, now, though, because they’re moving together, and Bucky wants, too. So he stumbles out of his room, looking for god knows what. His vision is tilting and he’s sweating, but he knows, somehow, where he’s going. 

“Sergeant Barnes? May I help you?” FRIDAY’s voice asks. Bucky says something, but he honestly has no fucking clue what he’s doing or where he’s going, but he knows he’s going somewhere.

“To your right, sir,” FRIDAY says. Doors are opening without Bucky having to put his hand on any of the biometric locks. He’s shivering, too, and his hand is shaking so bad he doesn’t think he could actually get a door open on his own, anyways.

“Left, sir,” FRIDAY directs again, and Bucky barely has enough sense to actually go left, but go left he does. And left again. And right. And into an elevator. Then it’s right, right, right, left again, before FRIDAY opens a door to an actual room. It takes a moment for Bucky to recognize what he sees through the spots, but when he does, he wants-  _ they want _ \- all the more.

Tony is laying on the bed, and to Bucky’s hazy vision, he looks pretty hot, too. He’s got his head turned up, with his nose jammed into the neck of a stocky man with an unruly shock of curly hair. Bucky can see the flush on his neck. The other man raises his hand in acknowledgement. From the other’s talk, Bucky thinks this must be Bruce. The Hulk. The Soldier doesn’t even grumble about how they could be killed for being in here with what must be an alpha and a sick omega. 

Tony pulls his face back just long enough to understand who’s there. He offers his hand in demand, and god, Bucky can’t do anything but crawl onto the bed to lay half over Tony to sniff at his neck. What is wrong with him? He’s never been like this before. 

“Mr. Rogers is requesting entrance, sir,” FRIDAY says quietly. Bruce shakes his head. He reaches a cautiously over and, in full view of the Winter Soldier’s eyes, slowly sets his hand on Bucky’s head. Then he runs his fingers through his hair. Bucky’s almost panicked state recedes between the smell and the motions, and he falls asleep like that.

The Soldier rumbles  _ safe _ in the back of his head, and he falls asleep, too. 

 

…

 

Steve stands at Tony’s doorway, trying to think of any version of this situation which is okay. Tony, and Bucky, alone together. What the hell? Steve more seems to sense, rather than hear, Clint appear.

“Leave it, Steve,” Clint says, an he doesn’t sound defensive or angry, which seems to be a constant state for him ever since the Civil War. He just sounds tired.

“They’re alone-”

“Yeah, they are, and you aren’t getting in that room. Bruce is in there, and he’ll kill anyone who gets too close right about now,” Clint says. He takes a step closer and he is almost, but not quite, between Steve and the door. Steve wants to say that isn’t right, that Bruce wouldn’t put his hands on Steve, and certainly not over Bucky. Bruce knew something about losing what you did your level best to keep.

The two scientists inside had initially formed a better connection than the rest of them. It would not surprise Steve if Tony had taken steps to keep Bruce out of some sort of danger, and vise versa, now that they’re back together. Steve wonders what Bruce thinks of the whole Civil War deal. At first glance, it seems like the doctor would side with Steve in this whole mess. 

And yet… the Hulkbuster armor had been requested for by Bruce. He trusted Tony, and he trusted Tony’s judgement, and no one else’s, when it came to the Hulk’s rampaging. He had been more openly about accountability than anyone else on the team. The more Steve thinks about it, the more he can see Bruce standing on Tony’s side of the equation, likely in place of the kid. 

It likely wouldn’t have even gotten that far. He would have been with Tony when the engineer had tried to get Steve to sign. He would have likely done the only thing he could do, with Ross in the picture, and that was make himself noticeable enough that he couldn’t be taken. 

And there is something wrong with Tony, right now. The omega had been practically glued to Bruce’s hip since they got back, and while Bruce’s alphaness only came out in the Hulk, Steve doubts that any interruption would walk away unscathed. But Bucky is in there, being influenced in who knows what way. 

“But Bucky-”

“Knew what he was doing when he walked in.”

“You saw him, Clint! He looks sick.” Clint’s shaking his head, crossing his arms over his stomach and looks at Steve.

“If he were an alpha, maybe.”

“He is an alpha!” Steve insists, because it’s true. Bucky Barnes is a fucking alpha. The best alpha Steve has ever known.

“Maybe he was, Steve, but Hydra fucked with his head for seventy fucking years. You think there’s no possible way they were fucking with something else, too?” Clint asks, and his voice is gentle, and Steve almost can’t look him in the eyes, because he understands too much. 

“It can’t be,” he says, and it really can’t be, because no… no one would survive that shit. 

“Have you smelled him, lately, Steve? He smells more like Wanda than he does like you,” Clint presses, and he purposely doesn’t say  _ Tony _ , because saying Tony is like throwing an unpinned hand grenade into this entire mess.

“I thought that was Tony’s influence. I didn’t- why didn’t we smell it earlier?” Steve asks, and he doesn’t realize that Clint has taken his hand and moved him farther along the hallway. Away from Tony, away from Bucky. Away from Bruce.

“Why would we, Steve? The only omegas around were myself (and I’m on suppressants), and Wanda, who he hates with a passion. Stark is probably the first omega Bucky didn’t immediately dislike or could connect with in the first place, and whatever he’s going through right now has got every omega in the Compound on edge.”

Steve looks at Clint.

“Even Wanda?”

“Even Wanda.” The girl had been listless all day, wandering around like a red wraith. Usually, Steve takes it upon himself to cheer up anyone in that strange lethargy that precedes either making a bad decision or giving up entirely. Today, instinct had screamed to leave it. He hadn’t realized that this was the cause.

He lets Clint lead him away.

“Why did you follow me, today?” Clint shrugs one shoulder as they make their way outside, escaping from the strange, twisting sensation that something is wrong.

“Nat’s trying to keep us from getting kicked out.”

“Yeah, but all Nat has to do is mind her business.”

“We’re connected to each other, in name and in reputation. It’s not that simple, anymore,” Clint says. Steve gets the hunch that there’s something else. Nat’s wishes may have won them the battle, but they lost the war, and she and Clint have been growing apart since the Fall of SHIELD, anyways.

 

…

 

“Bruce, make it stop,” Tony says softly against Bruce’s neck. There’s a twisting sensation in his head and his gut, and it makes him uncomfortable. When he woke up this morning, it had felt like a heat, but he isn’t in heat, just eternally stuck in this infernal initial stage of heat and twisting sickness and strangeness.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Bruce says. He carefully retracts his hand from the Winter Soldier (and god, that was a ballsy move on his part) so as not to wake him and runs his hand down Tony’s bare side. His fingers play over scars that weren’t there six months ago but are already years old. 

His thumb rubs back and forth as Tony shifts his legs and feet in an uncomfortable bid to find some sort of release. His vision is still strange and spotty, but Bruce makes it better by being here, and Bucky does, too. Tony searches a bit, until he finds where Bucky’s hand rests over Tony’s stomach, and he grips. Maybe it’s a little too hard, but Tony feels so wrong and dazed and hot right now that he thinks he can be forgiven.

“What’s wrong with you, Tony?” Bruce asks. Maybe Tony doesn’t know, but there’s not a whole lot that Tony doesn’t know, these days. 

“My bond is breaking,” Tony says. He gives a huff of mirthless laughter, ribcage expanding and retracting a bit. Bucky doesn’t wake, but he does move closer in his sleep.

“Who are you bonded with?” Bruce says, and the question sends Tony back. Way, way back.

 

… 

 

There’s ceremony to everything here, Tony knows. It’s almost instinct now. The strange shiver that runs down his spine, Malka’s order to attention, it’s all routine, though it’s taken until now for Tony to actually have to fall into it. 

Tony dashes a hand across his forehead, above his goggles. He turns away from what he’s working on and shoves the tool into his belt before he gets lined up with the rest of the mechanics. He glances down his uniform, but can’t see much beyond the scarf. It feels okay though.

Mechanics tend to be small, though Tony is still the shortest one among them. Each one is outfitted in what seems like loose canvas work pants and short, matching jacket, a form-fitting, long sleeved shirt that seems almost like dri-fit, and heavy work gloves and boots.

They have harnesses on, both because maintenance occasionally requires the mechanic in question to dangle some distance of the ground, and because they have tools that they take with them everywhere they go. There’s also goggles, which are a part of a complete mask that they normally don’t wear, as well as plugs for their ears and breathing masks for their lungs that are used for when they have to work on a live piece of machinery.

It’s been a while since he got here, and Tony’s heart beats more strongly than it ever did. His hair is four inches long, now, and a form of extremis runs through his veins to keep him young and strong for as long as it takes. 

He stands in line with the rest (there’s five of them; Official Designation: Mechanic, Class E, Team 2), and waits anxiously as a tall, dark figure rounds the corner. Like he’d quickly got used to doing, Tony takes deep breaths, and concentrates on the data so that his unmitigated omega scent doesn’t tip anyone off to what he’s feeling. It’s easier, now that he’s not getting jumped in hallways.

The figure is noseless, his eyes eerily huge and blue, his skin the color of volcanic ash and his mouth a thin, lipless slit. He doesn’t seem to breathe at all, but that’s not particularly uncommon. Strangely enough, a lot of people don’t have actual lungs or they’re photosynthetic or quadripedal or aquatic or et cetera. So Tony doesn’t blink when the Captain comes around the corner. 

He just stands straight up and looks ahead and reminds himself to breathe slowly. Nix moves down the line, eyes trailing over each of them, body big and long and sinuous.

“Stark,” he says after a few moments that feel like forever. Tony immediately steps forward, and he can see Ananzan out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t react.

“Come,” he follows Nix out of the room. He can hear the sounds of his crew going back to work. Ananzan had told him this would happen, so Tony just does his best to stay calm as Nix leads him past teams of mechanics and cleaners and soldiers and to his private quarters.

He sits on the edge of his bed and just watches Tony, who does as he’s supposed to do and stares straight ahead at nothing, even though his eyes are actually level with Nix’s stomach. 

“Closer,” Nix says after a moment, head lowering a bit. Tony draws near enough for Nix’s four fingered hand to wrap around his torso and pull him where he wants him to go. His head lowers further, and he thinks that maybe Nix smells via his whole body. 

“You’re going into heat.”

“Yes,” Tony says, and he reminds himself that this is what has to happen. This is what Nix wants. Maybe Tony will kill him some day, and maybe he wouldn’t, but he would definitely need to just do this now if he’s going to learn anything about the alien later.

Another hand joins the first, and Nix pulls Tony up to sit perched on his lap. Nix clutches him close and wraps his head and neck around Tony’s. A strange, tingling sensation spreads from the contact point to his whole body. 

“Strip,” Nix breathes. He sets Tony down, so that the mechanic can do exactly as he’s told, no more, no less.

Four heats later, Nix asks about bonds, and Tony has to tell him, because there’s no way in hell he’s never had another human before. The first time, he doesn’t bite hard enough for fear of ruining his neck. The second time, he puts Tony in the medical bay. The third forms the bond, and he was no longer Ananzan’s to watch. 

It was no longer Ananzan’s duty to find someone suitable to get Tony through his heat without damaging him. Now, with the bite mark gleaming on top of the scars from the old ones, he belongs solely to Nix. It makes him sad, will always make him sad, but it’s not like he was never owned before. 

 

…

 

“Nix,” Tony murmurs into Bruce’s neck. The alpha rubs smooth, strong hands up and down Tony’s back.

“Is he the one that owned you?” Bruce asks, careful to keep his voice low and soothing. Tony laughs a little hysterically, a little madly. Bucky curls all the closer in his sleep. 

“He still does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)
> 
> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :)


	12. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda plays with fire and gets burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR MISCARRYING, TORTURE, AND MURDER. LOVE YOU GUYS STAY SAFE AND SANE (unlike Tony...)

Wanda is vibrating with so much pent up energy she can’t think straight. She saw Tony today, with the Hulk a close half-step behind, and Bucky with them, and that’s so wrong. Bucky is Steve’s. There’s no changing that. Seriously. 

It’s not like she can just get rid of it, either. Force fields are fine, but Wanda has only ever gotten rid of this sort of energy by destroying something. She heads outside, with the cold wind buffeting her and a thin snow covering the ground, to find something to break. 

Rocks are weirdly difficult to break open, so they’re pretty good for working excess energy off. Wanda stands out there, fingers and toes beginning to numb, entire face freezing in the low temperatures, breaking things apart one at a time. As she goes, doggedly working through a collection she had gathered not long ago for this express purpose, her mind wanders.

Stark is the issue here. When he was gone, all the issues were from the outside. Miss Potts, for one thing, Wanda couldn’t even think about touching because any change in her behavior was going to be blamed upon the Scarlet Witch. Even without that, Nat made her promise not to do anything so stupid. But Potts had always stayed gone, preferring to send missives and memos and what not rather than do any face to face meetings. 

The press liked to scream, as well. Still do, of course. The solution there had been to have someone do official statements, with very few actual press releases involving Wanda (Steve mostly talks for her) to cut down on potential accidents. 

All of that, though, had been outside of their group, if not outside of the Compound. There was a clear line between internal problems and external ones. But now Clint is walking around like he doesn’t know what time it is, anymore. He’s been a little bit like that for a while, now. Ever since their jailbreak, now that Wanda’s thinking about it. But now Stark is feeding that, somehow. 

Now Steve is losing his fucking mind, because Tony won’t let him make things better, and he’s pulling Bucky away like he always pulled people away from Wanda. She and Stark had always had two separate spaces, and like gravitational fields, people tended to choose between them. Right now Stark’s got Bucky wrapped around his little finger, and Steve’s hopeless against that. Nevermind his pointless fascination with Tony himself. If anyone doesn’t know what time it is, it’s Steve.

On top of that, Natasha’s trying to control everything like she wasn't the one who straight stabbed the man in the back. It’s not that Wanda doesn’t trust Natasha’s skill (she knew of her long before she ever saw her as part of this whole Avengers thing) it’s just that proximity cleary invites compromisation, where the spy is involved. Wanda wonders how many times Natasha has thrown her chances away. Somehow, she doesn’t think it’s often.

Sam is, predictably enough, deep into a quiet that lasted from the time he said that Steve was only in this for himself and Bucky to now. He’s not, of course. He’s in it for Wanda, and for everyone else that would get fucked over from the Accords. He avoids them all, and Wanda is too satisfied that he’s distracted, and Steve too distracted himself, for anyone to hunt him down.

The other witch is gone, for now, and Wanda hasn’t sensed him for two weeks. His brother has been making frequent trips to god knows where, so she has the magical run ofthe place to herself. 

She’s thinking this, and she’s thinking that all it would take is a little push, and Stark would be distracted with being sick, and the Hulk would too. They all would. They would stop paying attention to Wanda. They wouldn’t even be able to blame her, because Stark has always had dreams. 

She reaches out, feeling along the and brushing gently across minds. Sam in his room, holding a plank. Clint on the range, unloading arrow after arrow into moving targets that were once specially designed for him. Natasha, meditating as she tries so hard to find a solution, a way out, but she’s trapped herself, now.  

Wanda knows how that feels.

Regardless, she passes over them all, looking. She eases by Colonel Rhodes, just in from an Accords business meeting. Briefly, she is tempted to look inside his head to see what they were talking about, but she knows that her control is limited, with so much energy pushing at her at once. 

She passes over Bucky, who sits on the edge of a large bed with the Hulk. She also considers setting him off, but while subtlety is not her strong suit, obviousness isn’t really her forte either. Behind either of them, asleep in a mound of blankets, is Tony Stark. He’s breathing evenly, and whatever had kept Wanda away before is not there now.

She slips into his mind, looking for the things that had stood out to her last time. There is the anxiety that he keeps hidden like a knife, except instead of turned outward, it’s turned inward, pointing at him, daring him to move too much, too quickly, so that it may hurt him. 

There are his fears, lacing everything he does. It webs like the veins of some poison; only noticeable if one knows the symptoms. There is his drive and his intelligence, and it lights everything up. It burns at the heart of him, and she knows that it’s no wonder he is afraid of hurting people, if he burns this bright.

Wanda targets the poison. She doesn’t combat it; coax it to give up it’s sickening, cancerous hold on his mind (there are other poisons here, too, but she does not know them). She coaxes it, like a bullshark with the tiniest whiff of blood. She lends it her strength, and it surges through her and back into him and-

 

It’s cold, wherever she is. It creeps along her hands and fingers, freezing across her skin and causing frost to puff around her mouth. There is a hand in the back of her hair, and they want her to do something, but the details escape her. They shove her head down, and she’s halfway through an exhale when she hits the water. 

It’s a blur of greys and browns and tans, a long and painful process of wet and wetter, of water frosting across her and her nostrils and throat and eyes all burning along with their lungs as they try to get her to do this, and do that. She doesn’t know what she wants, but she knows she won’t give in.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” Stark asks. He doesn’t say much more than that, but that’s all it takes for Wanda to realize that she isn’t being hurt right now, but she is feeling someone’s hurt. Stark’s hurt.

“What?” she says, because she’s still dazed and confused. She can make out rock walls and battery wires and oh, does her chest hurt. There’s nothing wrong with her, but all that she’s hearing and feeling is actually happening to the figure surrounded by a cluster of men and forced to kneel over a tub of water. 

“I said, pathetic, isn’t it?” Stark asks. His hands are shoved into the fronts of his slacks as he walks a slow circle around the scene. Wanda is feeling every little hitch of fear, every explosion of panic, every burn of every drop of water through Memory Stark’s nose. 

“What are you talking about?” Wanda says. It’s not as if Hydra was a walk in the park, but they’d never had to push the Maximoff Twins to this extent. The original conditioning they’d undergone had been hell, the testing worse, and the experiments the worst, but Wanda had never been forced to her knees and waterboarded, and was clearly what was happening now. 

“This, of course. Pathetic little Tony Stark, right, Wanda?” Stark asks as he conversationally strolls around the scene so that he can stand in front. He squats, slow and graceful, in front of the men. “Poor little rich-boy, right, Wanda?”

“I,” Wanda says, but she can’t finish the sentence. It’s true. She had thought of Stark this way. 

“It must be so tough,” Tony murmurs, voice growing quieter now, more soothing. Wanda realizes he’s watching her, not the scene in front of him. “Poor bastard, having a taste of what real people experience.” Wanda’s throat closes off again and the feeling of water burns through again.

“Make it stop,” she gets out, tears in her eyes. Tony cocks his head, gaze soft and merciless.

“Why? You brought us here. You wanted me here. You make it stop.” Tony stands up and steps around the scene, so that he’s right up in Wanda’s face. She can’t see the figures, but she feels noises force their way out of her mouth, just like they do the Stark of a very long time ago’s. 

“Or did you not plan on this? Did you think you could continue to fuck with my head and drive me insane like you did before?” It’s a question

“I can show you insanity, and this isn’t it!” she manages, angry and going out of her mind with how the sensations echoe around in her brain. Eventually, once the memory has played out once, twice, thrice, she winds up sliding down against the wall, while the Memory-Tony is layed out on a cot. A man moves around him. He’s bald, with a beard, and she hadn’t noticed it (or him) before. Something like relief, swamped with pain and a strange almost-awareness, sort-of-removedness, comes over her.

“Who is that?” She gets out. Tony glances over at the scene, his mouth hitching up a little. 

“His name was Yinsen. He was kinder to me than I deserved,” Tony says. His voice is oddly soft, for someone who is speaking to his enemy.

“Why?” Tony turns fully away from Wanda now. He had been standing directly in front of her, pose casual, hair cascading down his back and shoulders. The muscles of his neck had stood out nicely in the low, dim lighting, and his hands had been shoved in his pockets. 

But now, he turns away, striding in slow, easy steps, to stand next to he cot, where the him of years ago was laid out, struggling to breathe, while the doctor works to get him calm and comfortable. The look on his face is even softer now, as he looks to the doctor who had saved his life, but Wanda can’t see it, now.

“Because he was better. Better than me, and certainly better than you, who value the mind so little that you would drag his memory back out into the open,” Tony’s voice does not raise, but it does go venomous, “just to poison me.” He turns back to Wanda, and kneels in front of her, taking in the beads of sweat running down her face, and how her eyes are blown wide at the pain that she can’t stop reliving.

“You may think me lower than dirt, but if you think you are any better, than you are sadly mistaken,” Tony says.

“Enough,” Wanda gets out after a while. “Make it stop.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she says as the memory starts over. Yinsen is gone. The other men are back. The water is untouched, but they are dragging him towards it.

“I can’t. You brought us here, witch. You’ll have to get us out.” Wanda shoves her hands into her hair as the feeling of the water in her nose and throat and lungs burns through her again.

“I don’t know how! You did something.”

“You try to drown me in my own head, but don’t recognize that you’re underwater, too,” Tony says, and he’s smirking as she gets it. She just has to get them above water. She has to- she feels for the strangeness of memories. The odd solid-not-solid feel of the memory suddenly stands out to her, and it doesn’t feel like it’s her throat, anymore. She has to get out of here. Get out of-

Pain rips through her abdomen, all the way down through her crotch. Her knees give out from underneath her, and she looks up at someone’s cry. It’s raw, and it’s angry, and it’s pained, and it’s terrified.

“Oh, my god,” she says, voice catching in her throat, and she can’t believe she’s seeing this. It’s Stark, again, and behind him is a very pale woman, with hair down to her knees, holding him against her chest as he tosses his head back. His teeth clench, and his eyes are squeezed shut. His chest is heaving, and sweat beads at both temples.

Stark is layed out on what looks like a medical table, but it’s all white. There’s rows of medical tables, in fact, and they stretch, dozens and dozens of them, in a grid of hundreds until they hit the back wall. She can see, as she moves, that there are clear glass walls that divide this place, in between wide spaces for medical staff. Some of them run back and forth now, to Stark, and to others. 

“Breathe, Stark,” the woman says, and she cradles him almost lovingly. She’s gentle with the way she holds him steady as other creatures rush about him. He’s pantsless, streaks of blood and sweat blooming like a macabre rose from his center. 

“God, this is the second one,” Wanda hears him half sob. His body seems to be wracked with one last wave of tension, before he goes limp against the woman. The creatures remove something from him, and as the pain abruptly abates for both Wanda and Tony, something like numbness blooms across their chests.

Something damp and cool begins to stroke along Tony and Wanda’s thighs, over their groins and in all the messy places. It is only as they’re peeling off the rest of Tony’s clothing that Wanda realizes that she is, once again on her knees.

“Make it stop,” she says, voice low and broken.

“I can’t,” Tony responds as the huge figure from before strides in. With Tony freshly clad in what looks like a loose tunic, the other creatures, except for the one who is still holding Tony’s limp body, step away.

The big creature gathers Tony in close, and a blonde humanoid, plus the one who held Tony both follow the giant creature away. 

“I didn’t bring us here,” Wanda hisses out at him as the memory begins anew. Tony looks at her, and his gaze is raw and burning.

“You did, because you’re still trying to hurt me.” Tony takes slow, measured steps forward, so that he can crouch slowly in front of Wanda as the pain explodes in her gut, again. “You don’t care what happens here. You don’t care what you break. What you see. What you hurt. As long as the one who sustains the damage is me. I can’t leave, but you certainly can. So go on, Witch. Free yourself.”

Wanda tries. Oh, does she try. She feels again for the not-quite-realness, and she tries to take them back out. To get them away. But she just can’t do it, and instead, they go deeper.

They’re on a barren planet, and it’s just Tony. His hair is down to his ass now, and he stands over a six armed creature. The thing has dusky purple skin, and he lays there like he just wants to get up so badly, but can’t.

“Jif’den, I’m sorry.”

“You aren’t,” this Jif’den spits out at Tony, “you never were.”

“Do you want to die now or go back?” Tony says, and Wanda feels a sadness so immense she wants to die.

“Die. Fuck you and Nix as well.” 

A small, dark object shoots out from Tony and into Jif’den, and what looks like green blood wells up out of a hole in his head.

“You’re still trying to hurt me,” Tony sings softly as the sadness gets bigger in Wanda’s chest. It consumes everything and god, if she isn’t done. She would honestly rather die than feel any of this any more.

“I just want to go home,” she says, and so what if her voice breaks?

“So did I.” 

Suddenly, they aren’t both watching the body of Jif’dan. Wanda is by herself, standing outside. The rock she had been playing with rests, untouched, a few yards in front of her. Her fingers are freezing, her face has gone numb and her toes are tingling. Stiffly, she turns and heads back towards the Compound, a new fear in her heart.

 

…

 

Tony jerks awake, and he thinks he’s surrounded by his enemies until someone’s voice breaks through. 

“Hey, hey, Tony, come on. You’re in your room. It’s just me and you,” Bruce says. His voice is muzzy, so Tony must have just woken him up. He reaches out and takes Tony’s hands ever so carefully in his own, so Tony starts to remember where he is.

“Tony?” Bruce says again. His thumbs are rubbing over Tony’s hands as they lay with the blankets kicked off so that the air can cool Tony down.

“Hmm,” Tony mumbles as he takes his hands back and pushes himself up. Everyday the pressure in his brain gets a little bit stronger, a little bit sharper, but the Witch’s attack has increased the effects tonight. So he curls himself as deeply into Bruce as he can. The other man wraps his arms around Tony and holds him close. His near scentlessness is comforting in a way that not even an omega could be right now.

“Tony, come on, what happened?” Bruce says. He’s worried because this doesn’t seem like a regular dream.

“Just a nightmare,” Tony murmurs as he concentrates on how nice it is to have Bruce in his bed, holding him gently. Bruce gives him a sad, but otherwise indecipherable, look. Tony knows he must not believe him. Well, Tony wouldn’t believe himself, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)
> 
> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :)


	13. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone looks for Wanda

Loki wakes with a start and slowly sits up. His bare feet hit the floor, and he pushes himself to stand. He’s been getting better at this. No sooner has he risen than he has to sit back down, though. The patchwork of his memories have finally stitched themselves together into full, inglorious focus.

“Strange!” Loki gets out of his choked throat. He pushes himself upright again and, even though it gives him a drowning wave of a dizzy spell, he magics himself into a mage’s proper clothing.

“Strange!” Loki calls out again as he pushes himself out into the hallway. His wild, dangerous eyes are wide, green orbs in his skull as past rooms and past hallways overlay over his current location. He sways madly, as though he’d imbibed an entire barrel of Odin’s strongest mead. Still, though, he keeps his feet long enough to run almost headlong into the Doctor.

“Loki,” Strange says, and his voice is neutral, as opposed to the just barely contained territorial anger he’d had the last time he and Loki had met.

“Is it gone? Did you burn it all out?”

“Yes, Loki. I burned it away. Come on, you shouldn’t be out like this.”

“Don’t tell me what I ought to do and not to do! That it is gone is all that matters!”

“You will over exert yourself and then I will have to carry you. Again!” Strange barks back, and for a moment, their snarling, angry faces are just inches from each other. 

“Come. I will show you what I know in your room,” Strange finally relents, and, his hands on Loki’s shoulders, he turns the other man around an leads him back to his bedroom. If Loki leans on him more than any crown prince should, well, no one has to know. 

Some hours later, after Loki has laid back down for a nap to regain his strength, he bolts upright.

_ “Stark.” _

 

...

 

It takes a few more days for Loki to be strong enough to venture outside, but when he is, oh, is he adventurous. The first place they go is to see Thor, who is sitting quietly in the company of a melancholy man with dark, bronzed skin.

“Friend Strange! And Loki. It is good to see you well,” Thor says. He rises up to clasp his brother’s, and gives a courteous nod to Strange. If the hold he has on Loki is a little tighter than it ought to be, well, neither Asgardian says a word. 

The second place they go to see is Tony Stark. 

They stand at the door, waiting to be admitted. Loki is leaning too far on Stephen to look put together, but by now the Sorcerer Supreme knows when he should just shut the fuck up. As it turns out, Loki’s a lot less confrontational if one does not assume he wants a fight in the first place. 

“Spirit FRIDAY, what is taking so long?” Loki asks, brows furrowed in what might be annoyance, and might be worry. Stephen’s still working on understanding which is which.

“Boss has a migraine, Mage Loki, Master Strange. He refuses to let go of Dr. Banner or Sergeant Barnes. One of them is trying to extricate themselves from under the blankets now.” Stephen looks to Loki, because Loki’s the only one who knows jack shit about what’s going on with Tony Stark.

“Why the hell is Barnes in there?” 

“Barnes is no longer an alpha,” Loki murmurs as he leans a little more against Stephen. Briefly, Strange recalls a time when he would have just let the damn mage fall, “and Stark has no pack. It is natural that they would be drawn together. Just as it is natural that he would be able to get Banner to return with him.” Stephen’s brows furrow.

“You don’t have a pack either, right?” Loki nods at that.

“No, I don’t have a pack, and even if I did, there is something about Stark that draws me that is purely something… other.” the door clicks open, and a blue eyed, one armed Soldier peeks through.

“What do you want?” 

“To make sure your packmate is okay,” Loki says, and his voice is almost as soft as it was the first time Loki woke up, alone and confused and without a scrap of memory in his head. Bucky’s eyes shift from Loki to Strange. 

“To make sure Loki is okay.” After a moment, Bucky moves aside to allow the two of them into the room. Loki moves quietly, feet making nary a sound as he gently slides onto the bed on the opposite side of Bruce. He reaches under the blanket before stiffening. His eyes lock onto Stephen.

“Magic, Strange. You were supposed to be watching!” he says, voice no higher than a whisper. 

“He said he had a necklace that protected him from that sort of thing!” Strange responds, eyes flicking wildly around. He must have it near him, right? Then, he spots an eight pointed star hanging around Dr. Banner’s neck. 

“He used it to protect his friend,” Stephen says. His voice is a little sad as he draws nearer to Loki. 

“Find the witch,” Loki orders, and Stephen knows why. She has crossed Tony Stark for the last time. He rises and departs, with only a nod to the doctor and a nod to the Soldier. 

Loki worms his way under the covers. He’s careful not to jostle Tony. Long, lithe fingers wrap themselves around his head, winding through his hair and pressing their cool tips into his scalp. Tony sighs, the heat in his skull going away a little bit. 

Then, a haze of magic, green as rolling summer hills and fresh as a spring, wraps around him and sinks into his head and his body. It rids him of most of the aches and the pain, and grants him relief enough to slip into a deep, dreamless sleep. The scent of omega is in his nose, and his alpha lingers beside him to keep him safe from all harm. 

 

…

 

Strange stalks the halls of the Compound, magic stretching out like tendrils to find the one who did this. He runs into Thor first. 

“How hails my brother?” he asks, as he has every day that Strange kept Loki while his memories returned. 

“Fine. It is Stark I’m worried about now.” Thor’s eyebrows draw lower on his face, mouth thinning. 

“What has happened?”

“The Scarlet Witch has used her magic on him for the last time.” Thor’s mouth thins. 

“Come. I believe I know who may help us. She is a hard creature to hunt down.” Stephen follows him to his bedroom, where Sam Wilson sits on Thor’s bed, writing something in a journal. Something about him seems calmer than the last time Stephen saw him.  He wonders if the Falcon and Thor are forming their own pack.

“Son of Will. We search for the Scarlet Witch. She has used her magic on friend Stark.” Sam rises, anger clouding his face.

“God dammit!” he says, stalking from the room. Strange and Thor follow him as he moves through the halls like an agitated feline. He throws open the door to Steve’s room.

“Steve!” he barks. Steve jumps when he hears the angry tone in his words.

“Sam?” Steve sees the two that come in after him.

“What’s going on?” he asks, looking a little apprehensive.

“I told you! I told you she was fucking wild and now she’s gone and attacked Tony. Again!”

“Well did they have a fight?” Steve asks, setting his book aside and standing. For the first time Strange realizes how utterly… unlived in this room seems. It’s like any hotel anywhere on the planet. Tasteful. Neutral. Impersonal.

“No! She just fucking attacked him, like you swore up and down wouldn’t happen.” 

“Look, I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding--” Steve begins, but Sam cuts him off.

“You’re damn right there is. Look, man, I trusted you, when you said this was all about protecting Bucky and not letting the government use him like they use everyone else. I did. I really, really did. But every move you make seems to more cost Stark than gain anything for your best fuckin’ friend, so I think it’s time you stopped acting like this is about Bucky and started acting like it’s about you getting what you want.” 

Steve seems stunned. It’s true that he hadn’t seen Sam much since Tony got back, but he’s not sure how he went from his second in command to his number one accuser.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you knew she still hated Tony, and you said it would be alright. Well now, Tony’s stuck paying the fucking consequences because of your fucking decisions and my fucking trust when I clearly should have doubted a long time ago.”

“It wasn’t me, Sam. Wanda is just--”

“Angry? A child? A little misguided? Overzealous but doing things for the right reason? What line are you going to feed myself, a sorcerer, and fucking Thor?” He’s caught Steve dead in the act, and he knows it because the man’s throat works, and nothing comes out. 

“Sam, we’ll figure this out,” he says, and he tries to keep his voice calm.

“No. I’m sick and fucking tired of you fucking the rest of us over so you can have your way. The Witch is attacking unprovoked. Either help us find her, or mark yourself an enemy,” Sam says. 

It took way too long to get to this conclusion, but it’s clear to him now that no matter the circumstance, it will always be Steve’s way first, and that is not acceptable. Steve seems to sigh silently. Sam can’t shake the way it feels like Steve’s acquiescing to a petulant child instead of doing something he should have already been on. He ignores it, though. There are bigger fish to fry. 

The four of them spread out, and recruit Vision to help with the searching. Quickly, they roam the hallways of the Compound. Every floor of every building, but even with FRIDAY’s help they can’t find the woman. Eventually, they meet up again after the sun goes down. 

The Scarlet Witch is well and truly gone. 

 

…

 

Rhodey arrives a few days earlier (as soon as word gets out, in fact, he’d requested a portal to get here to see Tony). Ross had done a 48 hour overnight flight to arrive at seven a.m., already armed with an espresso and a monster. He folds himself out of the back seat and walks, strong and angry, into the Compound, where a facility-wide meeting has been called. 

Widow sits, impassive and expressionless, on one side of Sam. Steve sits on the other, doing his best to mirror that unaffectedness. Clint takes up Natasha’s other side, with Scott on Steve’s right. The dynamic has changed amongst the Rogue Avengers. Mutual agreement that Steve will get them all thrown out of the Compound has put Sam in charge.

On Clint’s free side is Vision, Bruce, Tony, Bucky, Loki, Rhodey, Pepper, Stephen, and Thor. Rhodey and Pepper, while not overly pleased at not sitting next to their best friend, are equally pleased that there’s now so many people who would willingly kill a bitch for Tony. Plus they get to make murder eyes at the Rogues. Thor is honestly just happy that his brother is now Pack to someone, even if it isn’t him. 

Ross, at the head of the table, does not take a seat. Instead, he sets a folder down on the table; in the past forty eight hours, while he was on his plane here, a hastily set up investigation had been put in place. The Scarlet Witch had, unfortunately, been nowhere. 

“What. The ever-loving  _ fuck _ is going on here?” Ross barks out at them all. He can read the changed dynamics as well as any who’s been living here, and god, is he pissed with them all. Loki is the first to speak.

“As you know, sir, I warned the Witch of others who would come and possibly exact a punishment from her for mind-tampering. Three nights ago, I arrived at the Compound via Doctor Strange’s portal to find that, not only had she been up to her manipulative tricks, she had gone quite in depth this time, to the extent that Stark was bedridden with a severe migraine. She is missing now, which I believe is a result of those whose magic is from this plane.”

“No one has any right to kidnap anyone,” Ross grits out. Loki shrugs.

“I don’t control them. They are chaos mages, all. They are more acting in the interest of what powers them and also myself than anything else. And, since we are talking about universal laws, they don’t adhere to American standards,” Loki finishes.

“Well, we need to find her, and we need to bring her in. She has more punishment to face other than just some hippy dippy magic shit.” Tony gives a slow, poisonous, thin grin.

“I can find her.”

“Why do you look so happy?” Ross says, suspicion making him wary.

“Because she’s going to hate this,” Tony says, and it makes people uneasy. A year ago, Tony wouldn’t have done something because Wanda would have hated it. But a year ago, people only thought Tony was heavily eccentric but sort of sane. 

Still, if that’s why he’s doing this, because Wanda will hate it, well. It’s better to have her here and spitting mad than dead. They follow Tony out to the yard.

“Wait,” Steve says, “someone should go with you.” Because Tony Stark is dangerous and dangerously unpredictable. Because Tony Stark has always drawn every eye in the room, and it feels like now he’s poking them out. Because Steve wonders what happened out there in outer space and he knows that he’ll never understand until he knows for sure. Because he’ll never hear the story.  

“Wanda might be injured, or need some kind of magical assistance.” All eyes turn to Loki, who holds up his too thin hands.

“If you think I am going to go against those who recently held me in the same position, you are wrong. Especially since many felt I ought to lose my abilities, mind-controlled or not,” Loki says. Strange is nodding, the bastard.

“I suppose I could go, but if we’re talking about a panel of mages, then it will likely be hopeless. Besides, she has crossed some serious lines, no matter what order we’re talking about,” Stephen points out.

“So you guys are just… okay. With Wanda being tried without any sort of fair play in place-” Steve starts, but Tony stops him.

“The rules are very, very simple Steve: Don’t. Tamper. With. Minds. And she did that! Again and again and again. Maybe the question you should be asking yourself is less ‘what we’re fine with’ and more ‘why you have always been fine with this’,” Tony finishes, turning finally, and a small pendant is gripped in his hand. 

“Maybe you should ask why it’s always been an excuse for Wanda, but the highest punishment for Loki. They did the same thing, didn’t they? Except Loki was mind-controlled too. Personally, I say leave her there. She’s volatile, and she has the ability to set other volatile things in motion, no matter their control,” Tony finally finishes, eyes dark and flat where they’re pinned on Steve. 

“It’s not like that! I don’t have any control over Loki-”

“But you were so ready to see him gone. So relieved to see him in chains,” Tony says, and his body is turned, just the slightest bit, towards his newest pack member, who watches them both with an air of interest.

“We all were,” Steve reminds him.

“Of course we all were, Steve, because, to us, it was black and white, yes? But with Wanda, she needs another chance. It’s all grey. Well, I hate to break it to you, but neutral parties are pissed with her. I can try to bring her back, but that doesn’t mean she’s actually coming,” Tony says. All the humor has left his face, and now it’s just him, dressing down Captain America in front of everyone for trying to take the reins of a horse he can no longer control.  

Tony turns his back on them. The fabric of his button down strains against one shoulder as strange symbols light up in small, branching lines all over his body. The symbols are black, and from them pours thin, beautiful wreaths of smoke. 

They hit the ground with nary a whisper and coalesce into a strange hound. The creature seems to be half shadow, with it’s belly and the long fur on its haunches and at the end of it’s tale disappearing back into non-solidity. The other half of it is solid, dangerous, and mean. 

It has no collar, but no one questions who the creature obeys as Tony walks around to the front of the hound. He kneels in the green grass and grasps it’s head gently, like he would with a kitten. He sets his forehead to it’s nose, and it seems as though he is unaware of those shining, glittering teeth in its mouth.

“Find Wanda Maximoff,” he murmurs to it. The hound, despite being not of this world, knows exactly what he’s saying, and it immediately sets to sniffing the ground.

Meanwhile, more shadows pour off of Tony and form a larger, meaner creature. It is a lion, all in black, with shiny, feathery wings clinging to it’s back. The thing is huge, even more slavering and mean than the dog. Tony moves out from in front of the dog and clambers atop the back of the lion.

“Tony, what is this?” Sam asks, because he keeps having to remind himself that he needs to be in charge or Steve will easily take his place. But Steve is lost, and because he’s lost, he’s blind, and Sam can do this right now. 

“A gift from the Captain,” Tony says, and it’s so cryptic, but hell if anyone is going to start asking questions. 

“If you two are coming along,” Tony says to Strange and Loki, “I suggest you find a way to keep up.” He turns his focus back to the dog as the lion raises up. 

“Go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
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	14. Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has a better idea than the immediate loss of power. Some uncomfortable truths come to light.

Wanda would like to say she woke up somewhere unfamiliar, but what really happened is she was awake the whole time, and they just took some kind of magical spell that deafened and blinded and numbed her off. It’s more disconcerting, really, so Wanda would rather believe she fell asleep. 

She finds herself sitting in a chair, head not the least bit foggy (it had seemed to last only a moment, really) the way it would be with sleep, and faces what looks like a judge’s bench. The bench itself is not at all large; with only fifteen or so figures seated from end to end. All the way around the room, rising higher and higher towards a ceiling that Wanda can’t even see, are silent, alien spectators. 

They watch her quietly, coldly. Mercilessly. They are not human. They are too human. Wanda knows that this is what she was courting. This silent judgement. Some yards in front of her is a box that doesn’t appear to open, with a small slit on top. 

“Miss Maximoff,” a judge with dusky purple skin intones. He’s small. He wears naught but a small tunic that is fitted, and allows for his two extra sets of arms. 

“Yes?” Wanda says, but it’s really a statement. She’s under no illusions for what this is. 

“You were warned some weeks previously by the mage Loki Friggason. He informed you, as well as your nearest governing body, that failure to adhere to the rules of magic would result in some punishment.”

“Yes,” she says again, and she feels compelled. Like she can’t not tell the truth. Like she doesn’t even understand the meaning of a lie.

“Then you are aware of what happens next?” the creature says. Wanda’s eyes rove the stands, trying to find the source of this truth spell, even as her mouth spells out--

“No.”

“You will be tried. You have been appointed a representative, who will then argue for what he believes is the best punishment for you. After that, a punishment will be passed, and then carried out, by you.”

“Who is my representative?” Wanda asks. The purple creature gestures with one hand. From nowhere appears a small, slender thing with eyes far too big for its head and limbs that seem to weak for the strength that it displays drops down from the high, high ceiling. It lands a perfect dismount and rises.

“Ent,” the creature says. It smiles a lipless, toothless smile and tilts its head slightly to the side. Wanda can’t tell if she’s fucked with or not, but god, if she hasn’t landed neck deep in shit this time. 

 

…

 

Tony’s dog and Tony’s griffin are dangerous creatures. The dog (more wolf than mutt; more deadly than either) is excellent at picking up scents. Tony says they aren’t just scents.

Strange, Rhodey Loki, Vision (weird. Vision’s been avoiding… everyone. Tony doesn’t blame him. There’s too much drama for him. It’s true even if Tony hadn’t been intentionally making things worse), Bruce (of course), Steve, and Sam (because at this rate there’s going to be another civil war, and everyone knows that Steve will start it this time, too) all want to tag along.

Also Ross, because Ross is not dumb enough to think this won’t blow up without some form of oversight. 

Tony twists in his perch on the back of the smoking griffin and offers his hand to Bruce. The man doesn’t hesitate in taking the boost up. 

“She attacks you, and she’s a dead woman,” Bruce says, and he doesn’t say it with fear or anything really.

“Got it,” Tony says with a little smile. The Witch will know better than to dig into his mind again, even it did give him a vicious migraine and leave him bedridden. He’d lived through too much to flinch from consequences as small as that.

The hound moves, the griffin follows, and Strange and Loki both create twin platforms to transport the rest of them. Evening falls fast, and the cold winds just grow colder as Tony leads them on a tense and strange dance until the hound stops. 

He levers himself down onto the ground and approaches the hound. He has stopped before a small clearing of grass, hardly wider than the griffin he and Bruce rode in on. 

“Good boy,” Tony murmurs, head tilting as he eyes the thin air. 

“What have you found?” Loki asks as he allows his platform to dissolve. Tony’s honestly glad to have the crotchety warlock back in residence.

“A pinpoint,” Tony answers. He reaches back a hand and pulls Loki down with him. Just like he did, Loki’s head tilts just the slightest bit to the side and then:

“Oh.” and then Loki is reaching, disappearing into the little speck of light. Tony’s pulled in with him, and on instinct he reaches back to grab Bruce so that the gentle alpha gets to the other side. The Hound and the griffin follow with less preamble as Strange struggles to figure out what the fuck just happen and dread curls in his stomach, because what Tony’s been doing? That’s not any kind of magic he’s okay with. 

 

…

 

The Other Side, as Tony describes it (and Loki confirms) is apparently the alternate dimension that most use to travel through, but usually don’t visit. The bifrost is, in fact, a device that briefly constructs and then deconstructs an extension of the Other Side to transport people, which is why it takes so much to operate it. 

They’ve arrived in a strange place, where a single, colosseum-like building rises up. It’s light grey against a dark grey sky and matching soil with an almost purple tint to it. Four moons gleam at various fullnesses. Tony, Loki, and Bruce don’t flinch, but Stephen is busy taking notes. After this, things are going to hit the fan, if they haven’t already. 

The griffin chuffs, and Stephen wonders how connected it is to Tony. When they reach the end of the wide road, a massive entrance they hadn’t seen before suddenly appear. The giant oaken doors open of their own accord, and the group warily goes through. 

Voices (a single voice, in fact) can be heard from further inside, and Tony cocks his head.

“They’re already holding her hearing,” he murmurs to the rest. As if by telepathy, the griffin silently breaks into a full run, and skids to a stop inside of a giant audience chamber. The speaker falls silent. Wanda herself turns around, and Tony sees more hate and fear there than he ever has before. 

“You guys look like you’re having fun!” Tony calls out, his smile bright, his mind working quickly to assess the situation. Some emotion ripples through the stands as they eye each other and Tony Stark.

“You are the most recent recipient of Miss Maximoff’s… mind tampering,” says one of the important looking people sitting at an honest to goodness bench.

“Yes. Anthony Edward Stark, aka Iron Man, aka The Demon,” Tony says as he dismounts gracefully and moves forward towards the center of the room. 

“You have brought Loki Friggason with you.” says one of the judges, and a flash of discomfort/anger/malevolence goes through the audience.

“Yes. I posit that Miss Maximoff should not lose her abilities,” Tony says before anyone can give those emotions action.

“Why? She has tampered with the minds of dozens of people, yourself included. She is too disruptive to be allowed to continue on,” says the judge.

“There are other situations that are culminating as we speak. She could be valuable to them. A stay of execution is a better choice to the people she’s damaged,” Tony says as he draws abreast of Wanda and speaks to the whole room.

“What do you say, Trickster?” one of the other judges says, and Loki steps forward, face and voice grave.

“Stark is correct. Now that I am entirely myself, I will be keeping watch on the situation. Failure to show growth will cost her her abilities,” Loki says.

“The other one who has suffered from her. Bruce Banner,” says the same judge who has been talking this entire time. Thrills go through the audience as they watch this. This is highly unlikely. 

“There are larger problems than Maximoff’s temper,” Bruce agrees. This time, he defers to Tony, because Tony knows, better than anyone else, how to play the game. The bench looks to each other, and they talk, though no sound reaches those on the floor. The audience talks as well, different languages and dialects forming a soft carpet of sound. 

Eventually, things fall quiet again.

“Very well. Miss Maximoff will have a stay of execution of one Earth year, or until the aforementioned larger problem is handled. At that point, a final conclusion will be reached. The loss of powers will be applied, effective immediately, if Miss Maximoff deliberately breaks the Tree Law within that time. This meeting is adjourned.” The judges stand, and leave, and the crowd whistles their anger as well as their excitement as Maximoff hurries towards the group.

Ent gives a three fingered wave, his questioning gaze alighting momentarily on Tony Stark. He strides over, until he’s within speaking distance.

“So it’s true, then? You have fled the nest?”

“Yes,” Tony says, voice and face carefully emotionless.

“Well. I’ll be watching then. It’s about time someone put that bastard out of his misery.” Tony gives a twisted little smirk of a smile, and hopes like hell Ent doesn’t know much about him personally.

“I intend to.”

 

…

 

The group emerges through the Pinpoint in a quiet, heavy fashion. Strange is pissed. Wanda is shaken. Loki is contemplative. Tony is anxious. Ross is suspicious. They hold their tongues  until they are sitting in a meeting room.

“What do you mean, The Demon?” Ross says when they’re all back in the conference room and Wanda is getting checked over by a medical professional. 

“The ship I was on would use small squads of up to like six people to hunt down the runaways. I was one of the best the ship has ever seen. That’s the name they gave me,” Tony says as he looks around.

“That’s… Mr. Stark,” Ross says after a few moments in which everyone digests the idea, “is this something that would also be extended to you?”

“Yes. I doubt he’s sending anyone, because he knows I’ll kill all challengers, but he’s likely going to come here himself.”

“And do what?” Ross says. Tony shrugs.

“Part of what keeps the ship devolving into chaos is the culture onboard. That includes a formal process of challenging those who you wish to go against. I can, if the need arises, just challenge Nix for the title of Captain.

“What happens then?” Strange asks, getting more and more uncomfortable.

“He’ll have to accept. There are rules, of course, and they must be upheld by all parties, or the challenge will be considered null and void. If I kill him, the title rightfully goes to me, and then I’ll have a ship of at least four thousand strong. Some of them won’t want to fight, and I won’t make them, but others will, and they can help with Earth’s defense.”

“What do you mean, help with earth’s defence? Is this the “bigger issue” you were talking about?” Ross asks. Tony gives a saccharine, nearly poisonous smile.

“Oh, you didn’t know? Well, there’s a gigantic warlord headed this way, and he’s going to destroy the whole world to get at the Infinity Stones, one of which sits in Vision’s forehead. His name is Thanos, and greater planets that ours have failed to protect themselves,” Tony explains. He sits back a bit in his seat, eyes rolling over Captain America, pausing to burn into Sams, and landing back on Ross.

“That, by the way, would have been not as bad had we had Ultron, but… well. That’s not how that went down.”

“Ultron destroyed Sokovia,” The witch hisses out.

“Maybe. Yeah, I won’t deny that, but you’re little vision kickstarted the stalled out program that was Ultron, of course. You also cause the Hulk to rampage in Johannesburg, but I suppose the dead there don’t matter to you. Plus, no matter what Ultron did or didn’t do to the city, he certainly never took part in years of domestic terrorism, Miss Maximoff,” Tony says with a sweet smile and a dry voice. “But hey, what do I know? It’s not like… I… was taking the blame for everything instead of just what I actually did.”

“You-” Wanda begins, but Loki cuts her off.

“Enough. Thanos is real, and he is headed this way. If Stark can kill-” Loki looks to Tony fr an answer.

“Nix.”

“-- Nix-- and it is high time that bastard died- then the best option is to help him do that. Do you have a plan? One that you aren’t going to cut off at the knees, this time?” Loki says, and clearly he’s annoyed about the whole necklace deal, but Tony honestly needs Bruce with him more than he needs Wanda out of his head. 

“Yes. I’m working on a new armor, and my heart, lungs, and ribs are actually working at 100 percent right now,” Tony says. “But this isn’t going to be neat. If I lose, Nix has can take me with him, and then we’ll be left without a fighting force.”

“That’s an unacceptable outcome,” Ross says, and he’s quickly thinking of what he’s going to tell the UN about it.

“There isn’t a better way. You do something like sabotage Nix, and the whole ship is going to riot. And these are slaves we’re talking about, here, too. There’s going to be a lot of humanitarian work mixed in, plus someone needs to start up a proper alien-people exchange type agency and what not,” Tony says. Strange sighs. 

“I suggest we all get some sleep. Miss Maximoff has had a very long day, and I, for one, need to do a little more research on Thanos,” he suggests. Ross looks around and, yeah, there are some important people missing from this equation. Namely an Accords panel. Whose job it is to deal with this exact fucking issue. 

“Fine. Dismissed. Mr. Stark, there will be someone asking why you didn’t mention that there’s an alien slaver heading this way. Miss Maximoff, there will be punishment for repeated mental attacks. Dr. Strange, your research will be very much appreciated. Everyone else, dismissed.” Everyone at the table gets up and heads to their quarters. As Strange prepares to portal to the London Sanctum, Loki quickly follows him.

“What?” Strange asks. He didn’t think Loki would want to be near him after the other man regained his memories.

“I can tell you a lot about Thanos,” Loki says, and Strange thinks that maybe this giant problem might be why Loki needed an exorcism in the first place. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
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> 
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> Announcement 8.17.2017: for those of you reading the Come On and Make Me series, the last fic, Abdication, will be up next week.


	15. Scrambled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original pack is broken. the new ones have scrambled, blurry lines. Clint and Natasha evaluate. Bruce and Tony spend some time together.

Bruce kisses a slow trail down Tony’s body as the omega lays out on the bed, upper body bare. 

“I’m sorry I was never there like I should have been,” Bruce says as his calloused, blunt fingers travel gently over tanned and scarred skin. 

“You weren’t ready. None of us were, I think,” Tony murmurs as Bruce’s calm alpha scent spreads like a silky cloud throughout the room and Tony just closes his eyes again, basking in it. 

“Doesn’t excuse me,” Bruce says, and he’s feeling so guilty. Maybe Tony would never have gotten taken in the first place if he had been there for his friend. 

“The bond’s getting a little tattered,” Tony says as Bruce cups hands underneath his ass and concentrates on the skin below his navel.

“Will it break?”

“It will by the time I’m finished.” 

Bruce raises his head, suddenly doubtful.

“Don’t do this because it will hurt yourself.”

“I have to chip away at it. He’s strong. Do you know how long I was on the skip? By myself?” Going mad with the silence?

“No.”

“One year, four days, seven hours, and sixteen minutes. I had heats up there with nothing to help.” God.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce says again as he draws up the bed to hover over Tony, face to face. The omega wraps his legs around Bruce’s waist.

“I forget, sometimes, that I’m not alone. I’ll be in the lab, working, and no one will say anything, and I’ll think I’m back on the ship, rebuilding extremis from scratch to find a solution for my stupid, failing heart,” Tony says, and his voice is low but not sultry, eyes half lidded like he’s only half awake. Bruce thinks he must be this close to floating away on a happy haze of hormones.

“Or I’ll be in the training room, and it will remind me of the skip, and there won’t be anyone there. It scares me,” Tony says. He reaches his hands up from where they were resting on either side of his head. They wrap around Bruce and pull him closer, so that the alpha is laying on Tony’s body.

“Why did you lie to me?” Bruce says after a while, when he’s turned them so that Tony is laying half on top of him. Tony had said that he had his own protection against the witch, but the frantic clutching, the sheer need to make sure they hadn’t gone back in time, that this wasn’t a repeat, said otherwise.

“Because I needed you more than I needed my sanity.”

“Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” Bruce says as he trails a hand up and down Tony’s back, feeling the ugly, marred skin. The brands along his upper arms. The scars from fatal wounds and the scars just from honest work all feel the same under his fingertips. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bruce says as Tony slips closer to sleep. The lights, which had been dimming gradually, leaves them in near blackness. It’s just enough to see, should someone have a nightmare.

“Goodnight, FRIDAY,” Tony says instead of answering. 

“‘Night, Boss. Night, Dr. Banner,” FRIDAY replies, and Bruce tugs the covers up higher.

 

…

 

Stephen and Loki sit across from each other at a low table, kneeling on mats. There is tea, and Stephen pours it. He’s always done everything as soon as possible, in as little time as possible, which includes the pursuit of knowledge. This, though, demanded a more Wong-like approach.

“So what do you know about Thanos?”

“He has two daughters. He forced them to fight each day, and the one that lost (and it was always the same one) would have a piece of herself replaced,” Loki says, and wow, Stephen wasn’t expecting that.

“Where are they?”

“The winner has defected, and now travels around with a group of misfits getting into trouble. The other, last time I checked, went to pay her father a visit in order to kill him.”

“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about them.”

“I would.”

“What will they do?”

“If Stark is correct, and there is truly a giant colonial ship coming this way, then that’s going to be a cache of weapons that would be guarded, but takeable. Especially if the Captain is focused on his runaway.”

“Right. Fun. So to chalk it up one of the smartest men on the planet has been enslaved for at least several years, and now that slaver is coming to get him, which might draw the eyes of Thanos’ daughter and her thieving friends.”

“Yes.”

“This is going to be a shit show,” Stephen says as he plucks his tea bag out and begins to drink. Loki follows suit.

“And then there’s the issue of Thanos himself,” Stephen says, and he’s careful not to say  _ the issue of you _ because he’s very aware that the omega in front of him, while currently calm, can throw an actual shit-hurricane of a temper.

“He’s a warlord. And he likes power.”

“Any idea what he uses it for?”

“My guess? He has an entire army of savage, cannibalistic beasts who can only be kept in control via war spoils and fear. He probably needs it just to survive.”

“But he couldn’t have always had an army.” Loki shrugs one shoulder, looking especially uncomfortable.

“Maybe he eats it. A creature as big as that would need to eat far too much to sustain himself. It seems like raw power would be a better option than finding somewhere with enough food to last.”

“Loki,” Stephen says, and his voice is soft even if his hands are shaking a little more.

“What?”

“What happens if you get captured by him?” 

Loki looks kind of sad for a moment before he withdraws into himself, voice going emotionless.

“Then he won’t leave me with half a mind to bottleneck an invasion. And he definitely won’t leave me with the resources to get him out of my head again,” Loki answers, voice low and eyes intense, like he needs to Stephen to know that there is no second chance. This is the second chance, and if Loki goes down again, he’s not getting back up.

The scent of a slow, creeping fear seems to clog the air for ages after.

 

…

 

The next day, Loki holds himself stiffly as he presents to Stephen everything he can remember on Thanos. He has written it out in the journal Wong gave him. Every other page remains empty.

“I hope this will suffice,” he says, his voice as cool and as put together as he can make it. There’s something deeply uncomfortable about the act.  Stephen realizes it’s because Loki said I hope, but the god has always just pursued. There is no “hope”. Not unless he makes it. That’s how Strange knows it won’t be enough.

“It’s a start,” he says, and he won’t acknowledge the subtext, because Loki doesn’t want it seen, let alone read. 

“I suppose  it’s time to return. It appears Stark has no concept of not injuring himself.”

“Banner has the necklace, I believe.”

“If he gave it up, then he found his friend to be more important. It is in the best interest of this planet if we follow his lead.”

“Why not yours?” Loki shrugs his shoulder.

“I ruled an entire realm in the attempt to find some way to kill him, and it did not work,” Loki murmurs, voice too cool again, like he doesn’t want to say anything.

“But he has a plan, so I’m telling you now that I’m putting all my weight behind him.” Stephen nods.

“There is more. I once had an altercation with a creature by the name of Dormammu. He is from another dimension, and he eats worlds.”

“Truly?” Loki says, cocking his head to the side.

“Yes. I picked up traces of his magic on Stark today, and while Dormammu cannot enter this dimension, he may have found some loophole. Do watch yourself. It was something of a miracle that you survived the first exorcism.” Loki nods.

“I will keep in touch. And thank you. I realize you never wanted me back here.” Stephen gives him a smirk, this almost soft thing they have between them helping him to say something right, for once.

“Well, I am glad you came. We do, in fact, need all the help we can get.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Loki says, and then he slides away into thin air.

 

…

 

Loki appears in the hallway outside the door to Thor’s room. It has been some time since he’s truly talked to his brother, but he needs the other Asgardian on board if this is to work. With one more fortifying breath, he releases his hand and knocks gently on the cool metal. 

It opens with a hiss of air, and Thor is looking down at him with his blue eyes so sad.

“I believe… I’m better now, brother.” And Thor pulls him in like they never fought, arms forming the barriers that were once the strongest, safest things in the world to Loki. 

Thor had been left with naught but a note as to Loki’s intentions when the mage had left him weeks ago, detailing his intentions in only the vaguest of terms. The fact that the link between their minds, as both brothers and the joint kings of Asgard, remained strong and steady is the only reason Thor had been able to go about his business instead of attacking the doors of the London Sanctum. 

Except once when the link had all but cut. 

“Brother, it is good to have you back,” Thor says as he drags Loki inside and closes the door. They are pack, and they have been separated for too long, now. 

 

…

 

Out in the rock garden, Clint spies Natasha’s red hair before he sees her. 

“Hey, Nat,” he says, sinking down to join her on the bench. His hands are in his pockets, and his eyes are off in the middle distance.

“Where’ve you been hiding yourself?” Nat asks in lieu of a hello.

“Around. Thinking about some stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Stark, mostly. That and his pack. And then there was the shit that went down with Wanda. Attacking someone’s head again doesn’t sit right with me.”

“She’s done it before.”

“She was our enemy,” Clint reminds her as he stands up and moves to the edge of the rock garden.

“You think she ever stopped?”

“Off the top of my head? Yeah. Soon as we could do something for her. Everyone but Stark, that is.”

“You think she’s that shallow?’

“I think she’s Hydra. I think she was raised that way.”

“According to her, she wasn’t raised at all.”

“That’s just it, Nat. According to her, Stark killed her family. According to her, Stark is an evil man. In all honesty I think there’s something wrong with her head, and I don’t think it’s smart to listen to anything else she says,” Clint divulges. 

He honestly can’t tell if Natasha is lost in the ever over-boiling pot that is being one of them right now or if she’s just sizing him up. He hates that they’ve grown apart enough for him to not know.

“I hate this,” She says, eventually.

“Which part?” Clint responds. He knows Nat has it worse. Between her notoriety, SHIELD’s fall, her part in the Civil War, and her passive aggressive issues with Wanda for her part in the Civil War, she has no allies left. 

He had a family. Still has one, even. The only reason he’d managed to get to the Civil War at all is because Laura had heard exactly what Cap said and gave her approval. That it blew up in their faces has more to do with the… less than forthright way of Cap’s phrasing and the fact that Clint had too much faith in him, and didn’t read the situation correctly. 

“All of it. I’ve seen situations like this before. I’ve played everyone involved before. Now everything is spinning out of control and Tony is fucking insane half the time and quietly taking over the world the other half and I miss Phil,” Natasha responds.

“Fame doesn’t suit you,” Clint observes. Natasha just nods her head.

“You got out when you should have, but I’ve never been good at that.” The only thing she’s never been at least passable at.

“You know right now is delicate. Steve is falling apart and he burned all his resources already. Bucky’s already changed sides. Wilson’s found a new ally in Thor and I’m pretty sure he’s gunning for leader. Tony is magic now which, weird. What do you want to do, Nat?” Clint says. He’s trying to get at her clinical self. The tactician she needs to be to keep herself together. He already knows what he’s going to do.

“Wilson’s a better leader than Steve. More well rounded,” Natasha responds after a moment, “he’s an alpha, but without a mate, he’ll need a secondary alpha for any pack he might build as well as a beta, considering the pressures. I doubt Thor will be in the hierarchy because he’s still attached to Loki. It’s possible that Thor and Loki won’t be in the same pack because of their fighting.”

The signs of a struggle slide away from her face as she gets into the swing of things and sits up a little straighter. “Tony is obviously building a new pack, and it looks like Bruce will be his alpha and he already has his secondary and tertiary omegas, but not betas. This poses a problem  because of how I made him Hulk out in Sokovia,” Natasha says. “There’s a chance of reconciliation, but I highly doubt I could make a permanent position out of what trust they still have for me, which has to be at a record low, right now. Playing secondary alpha isn’t stable enough.”

“You’re in a different boat,” she says after another pause. “You were angry, and you did spit straight venom, but that’s more a product of high stress, and the fact that your own pack might be without you forever, which puts you under a lot of stress as a beta. Your absence makes room for Laura and the kids to be absorbed into another pack without your inclusion, which would cleave the relationship you have entirely in half.  You could be forgiven, especially if you forgive Loki, and give Tony a genuine reason to trust you again.”

“So you think it’s best if I try to join Tony’s pack,” Clint says, and he’d already gotten there a while ago, when it was clear how the pieces were falling into place, but it sometimes helps Natasha for someone else to sit with her while she takes that step back.

“And I Sam’s. I need connections, and I’ve severed, or never built, them all. Plus, Steve’s ejection from our pack automatically makes me and Sam primary alphas. One of us stepping down without the fight to go with it and working as a team could create something much more stable than what the Avengers were.”

“Originally, Steve had been primary alpha via assumption and seniority, really. While he did a fair job with most of us, Tony would never have fit under Steve as a secondary omega or loner, and he definitely would have never bonded. It threw us off when he and Pepper, who was a loner, along with Rhodey, broke it off, because it unbalanced him. But that made room for Bruce, shifting the locus of stability closer to Tony and farther from Steve than it already was. In all honesty, it’s almost surprising he and Bruce didn’t actually bond. It would have settled the dichotomy,” she muses. 

She leans back, hands on the stone bench behind her and looks up at the sky. 

“Maybe we should have been two packs, working in unison from the beginning. That would have worked better,” she says, finally, all the thoughts and the confusing swirl of emotions and their fight with logic finally calmed down. 

“You feel better now?” there is no going back, Clint knows. Loki can’t un-mind-control him, and he can’t un-kill phil, or un-drop of the Bifrost. Just like Thor can’t undo their childhood and he can’t un-naive himself to keep him from ever getting to that state. Tony can’t un-make Ultron. The team can’t un-travel to South Africa or un-fight or undamage all the things and people they broke. 

But they can scramble things. They can redraw the lines and redo the dynamics and get over the fighting, if not the betrayals. If not the lies. 

“Yeah,” Natasha says. They have to deal with Wanda. They have to deal with Steve. But Clint and Nat are on the same page again, and he can call Laura and face time with the kids, and he has a chance to build something on the ashes of all the bullshit.. In all honesty that’s more than he can ask for and all that he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
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> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :)


	16. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Rhodey talk about the new packs. Clint has a moment of honesty

Tony sits on the couch in the lab, pressed up as close to Rhodey as possible. At Tony’s request, Rhodey had remained distant, ostensibly to work on the massive, cavernous fractures in the Avengers pack without interference for long enough to get something done. Now, though, he needs Rhodey here, and he needs Pepper to be close by, because things are coming together.

“You know, for the longest time I didn’t think you really got what made a pack,” Rhodey muses.

“I’ve always known. Just never really had a desire to make one of my own.”

Rhodey smiles at that, quietly observing the thing Tony’s working on right now.

“No, Pepper was supposed to be professional, I was too far away, and Stane and you would have fought for dominance, which wouldn’t have worked at all,” Rhodey  

“Must you shatter my every illusion?” Tony says, smiling a little. He’s glad Rhodey got why they were never a pack. In college, Tony had not manifested until their last year, and Rhodey was still part of his family’s pack until he moved away for the Air Force. At that point, he developed a close knit pack with a few guys and was also part of a super pack.

Pepper had been strange, really. When Tony met her, she was at the bottom rung of her family pack but refused to leave it entirely, though, statistically, three out of four children in non-abusive households will do just that, which was something she’d refused to discuss, and Tony had let it drop. It had remained that way for long enough that, by the time Pepper was ready to leave, well, Tony had already been Iron Man for a while, and it just didn’t work out between them.

Tony himself was (and still is) also strange. The average pack that does not have a marriage as a base has a power locus and a control locus, usually held by the same person, but sometimes split between two people if the one with the power happens to be emotionally tone deaf. 

With Tony, any pack he makes is almost guaranteed to land him with both the financial locus (which usually is never formed) and the power locus. The control locus, however, goes to the person with the best understanding of the intrapersonal relationships of different members as well as an ability to problem solve and reach resolutions to lower the strain that arguments can cause, amongst other things. That, due to Tony’s upbringing and just about everything that followed after, is all but guaranteed to never fall to him. 

Bring in the Avengers, and a lot of shit changes. With Tony, Rhodey, and Pepper unable to reach anything more concrete than connected loners, Tony didn’t have a pack, but he is a strong omega. One of the strongest, in fact. So when he was pulled in to the Avengers as a consultant, it went directly against where he would naturally be. When he clashed with the guaranteed primary alpha, it just made things worse. 

With the Widow, who Tony already didn’t trust, falling in as the secondary alpha, and Clint and Bruce remaining as a loner beta and a loner alpha, respectively, it actually made no sense for the Avengers to form a pack. And then Tony invited the Avengers to stay. 

He wasn’t compatible with the primary alpha, so Tony should have remained a secondary omega, despite there being no primary omega. But he was the smartest, and he did have the armor, and he was highly experienced with the press and with reputations, all of which netted him the power locus. Which. Pissed. Steve. Off. He was left with the control locus, which is nonnative to him.

It wasn’t outright, but it’s still true. When Steve had the chance to add another alpha, omega, and beta to the roster in Sam, Wanda, and Vision, he did, and he used his position to insert Wanda into the primary omega spot, despite Tony taking serious issue with her. In the end, it had been like wedging a metal spike into a fracture in the ice.

Thor, the tertiary alpha due to his other duties, had left as well. Losing the three other least attached members of the team put Tony on the bottom rung. They couldn’t get rid of him, because of the power and financial loci, but they could sure as hell try. 

In all honesty, it was only a matter of time before things blew up, and it makes perfect sense that Steve would immediately put Bucky fucking Barnes in Wanda’s spot (even if he didn’t do it intentionally, since no one knew how Barnes would manifest until he did), and make off with everyone, abruptly cutting Tony from the pack all at once.

But now there’s another chance to do this. Bruce is the calmest person Tony has ever met, and he struck some kind of deal with the other guy after they evidently switched shoes for two years. He’s now less likely to blow up than ever, despite the attention and tension of everyone around him. He and Tony can almost act as a complete unit. By the time this is over and done with, they’ll be properly bonded. 

Bucky, of course, was a bit of a surprise, but as soon as Tony smelled him that one night right after he got back, when Tony was still a little bit wild and too long without company, he knew what he wanted to do. He knew how he was going to upset the balance. He had found his crack in the Avengers pack, and he knew what metal spike was going to work best, and he hammered it for all he was worth. 

Underhanded? A little bit. Most of it though, is just understanding dynamics. The Avengers should never have been a pack. That they were was a freak occurrence, and it’s long overdue for a restructuring anyways. 

“We can be real pack, now, right? Now that you're not in active duty anymore? And me and Pepper got our own shit figured out?” Tony asks after a while. They’re both betas, and he and Bruce would need the balance, as well as Loki and Bucky, if things go the way they’re supposed to.

“Yes Tony. God, yes. I should have come back sooner and I’m so sorry I didn’t,” Rhodey says, and Tony sighs, happy. Now all that needs to happen is Bruce should come see him and they can all take a nap together.

“What are you working on?” Rhodey asks, and that’s almost as good as a nap right now.

“My new armor,” Tony says, and Rhodey feels excited to see it in action. 

 

…

 

Sweat gathers on Tony’s temples and drips down the sides of his face. His eyeliner is even beginning to look a bit smudged, and his massive bun has grown a bit messy. Still, he does not let up, instead he begins to circle again. He keeps his distance for a bit, focus honed on his opponent. 

Loki, who has stripped down to a sarong like garment Tony’s been warned not to mock, has yet to get hot. At all. Tony’s jealous. Suddenly, Loki breaks pattern and darts forward, his short staff flicking out in front of him in an attempt to wound. Tony moves diagonally, sliding past the staff so closely that he can feel the wood along his side. 

He goes for Loki’s own gut, but the god’s already moving backwards and Tony is following him, even as he twists away. If the spear comes back far enough for the white end to touch Tony’s body, then he’s lost. 

Loki flicks out a foot as Tony goes, tripping his opponent. In a flash. He’s on top of him, white head pressed against Tony’s chin.

“Point to me.”

“I need a nap,” Tony pants out, white teeth flashing in the light. Loki helps him up, their hands clasped around each other’s wrist.

“Who taught you spearwork?” Tony shrugs one shoulder. “Ananzan.” Loki’s back stiffens.

“A fire demon. You learned weaponry from a fire demon,” Loki says, voice low and dangerous. They are still touching, and their conversation is quiet and intense.

“Yes, I did. In a lot of ways, she was the only friend I had. You would do wise to not make me choose between you two,” Tony warns him. Loki meets his gaze, and it’s a battle of wills on a field of eight inches.

“If you say she can be trusted, then I will follow your lead,” Loki says, finally. “But know this: slavery often makes the heart more vicious.” Tony draws even closer, so that they can feel each other’s body heat.

“You talk as though I know nothing about it.” Then Tony is letting go, leaving Loki to his thoughts. 

 

…

 

Loki is outside, his third eye open for the time being as he walks the grounds. Everything is bright, when he sees like this. The true auras of things shine true. Sometimes it’s merely a gentle glow, and other times, it’s an utter sun.

The latter case is Tony Stark. The former, though, is Clint Barton. He sits alone, in a private little bamboo glade surrounding a gravelled area with a few benches curving around its edges. Loki watches, curious.

“Do you still see blue, sometimes?” Clint calls out, and Loki wonders if maybe Barton was waiting for him. 

“Yes. When I am not fully awake.”

“How do you get around it?”

“I ran from it. And then I burned it,” Loki answers. Cautiously, he sits next to Clint, watching his aura for any clues as to his intentions. Since his return, the archer’s been avoiding Loki. He almost certainly has some sort of agenda now.

“It’s always just out of sight, for me,” Clint says, and it’s true. It’s truer than what he meant to say. “I think it’s there, but it’s not. It’s in the peripheral. Taunting me.”

“I could look for you. Or you could go to Strange.”

“I thought you hated Strange,” Clint says, “when did that change?”

“I asked for help. He got rid of Thanos’ influence for me in exchange for an account of all the things I’d tried before.”

“How are those things equal?”

“He knows precious little about my magic, about Asgard, or Jotunheim, or anything of that nature. That’s a dangerous fact for a man in charge of guarding the earth against magical threats,” Loki says.

“What have you done to get rid of the flickering?” Loki says, and Clint knows that this is quid pro quo, that in New York, they had the same problem, but were in different places on the chain of command. 

“Ignored it. Sometimes it dies. Sometimes it doesn’t.” 

For the first time, Loki turns to look at Clint fully. He takes in the traces of sleeplessness, the tension in his shoulders, like he’s got the weight of the world on cracking his spine in two but no control over how things go. 

“How do you fare, truly?” Loki asks, curious. Clint is shaking his head.

“We’re breaking apart. Always were, I guess. It used to be me, only there because of Natasha, but then it was Tony, only there because of his wallet. I knew things were bad from the first time I saw them together.”

“Who together?”

“Tony and Steve. They liked to go at each other’s throats. If I had been smart, I would have left right then and there.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I trusted Fury. I believed him when he said they could be something more. That I could be something more. I just… you gotta understand. I just woke up remembering that I had gone out drinking with some of the agents I killed. That I had been in bed with some of them. That I had run missions with some of them. Been across the hall in Medical with some of them.

“I mean, Fury did what he could. Had me tested and evaluated and strung out with all the fuckin’ pressure there was to pass and I did. Clean bill of health, physical and mental. But I never felt like it was really gone, and neither did anyone else. It was sink or swim, and the only place to swim was the Avengers’ tower. That doesn’t even consider Phil.” Loki is nodding his head.

“For what it’s worth, I know the feeling, and I am sorry I brought that to you. I am also sorry I killed this Phil fellow,” Loki says, and his voice is the most gentle Clint’s ever heard it. He takes a moment to really breathe in his scent. He smells… like spices, and something crisp, but the feeling of malice that Clint had, for so long, mistaken for alphaness, just isn’t there.

“You’re an omega.”

“Yes.”

“God, how did I miss that?” Loki smiles a bit.

“You were supposed to. I’ve been making people miss that since I was old enough to do so,” Loki says. He closes his third eye, and looks at just Clint, with his forgettable face. Loki can see, now, why he makes such a good spy and not just a good shot.

It’s so easy to slide into and out of places when you look just like everybody else.

“I hated you for the longest time,” Clint says, apropos of nothing, and Loki nods.

“Many did. Most still do.”

“I guess I thought I knew it all,” Clint says, and no matter what he told Natasha (or himself) he can’t keep this from being emotional. No one gets shit off their chest without getting personal. He knows that’s not what spies do, but hell if he could be a spy now, anyways. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
> My tumblr: A Somewhat Ambiguous (https://asomewhatambiguous.tumblr.com)  
> My Facebook: Grace Augustine (https://www.facebook.com/grace.augustine.927980?ref=bookmarks)  
> My Twitter: GraceAugustin19 (https://twitter.com/GraceAugustin19)  
> My Etsy: Grace’s Journal (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)
> 
> The Etsy is alive and well! Come by to see what I’ve got for sale :) (https://www.etsy.com/shop/GracesJournal)


	17. It's All Going, Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nix's ship will make landfall soon. Ananzan is informed of her situation. Tony works on healing. Steve gets a new understanding of the way things are.

The ship is massive. It takes four months to draw close enough to the atmosphere. When it does, it hovers just out of orbit, somewhere beyond the moon. Tony can sense it like he can sense nothing else. He’s connected. There are those that know; pieces of his plan that need to know their roles before hand. Everyone else, though, hasn’t got a clue.

The last few days, Tony sits on the floor in his lab, working on something fun; it’s going to be his last personal project for a while. Maybe forever.

He spends time mediating, like Bruce told him. Occasionally, he meditates while sitting in Bruce’s lap, and that’s the best. His legs are folded underneath him, his hands rest on his thighs, and he breathes in and out. Remain calm, cool, collected. It’s only the rest of your life. 

 

…

 

Things are slipping away from Steve, and they’re doing it very quickly, now. Every time he turns around, Sam is watching him. He always has something to say about how Steve needs to “stop talking like that” and “pay attention to how you’re acting, man”. There’s this underlying anger that’s in everyone, and Steve feels like it spread from Tony. 

He tries to work it out the way he always did before, with conversation and coming up with some kind of plan (even if it’s only 12% of a plan, as Tony would say). Between Sam drifting and not listening anyways, and Natasha nigh on impossible to pin down, Steve is missing his two closest people. They’ve helped him  hold things together before, but if he can’t get them back here now, then it’s all hopeless.

And then there’s the issue of Bucky. At first, he’d been so suspicious at the fact that he’d been defrosted four weeks after he’d been frozen (two weeks since the prison break out, three weeks and five days since Steve sent the letter). The chance to go home (it’s not my home, is it, Stevie?) was not one they could pass up, or risk leaving Bucky out of. Eventually, his friend had seen his reasons as logical enough to get on the plane with them.

For six months, things had been bad. The American government was doing their best to explain away Civil War, citing “a clash of morals”, a “lack of a firm foundation”, and “an inability to control emotions” as their main reasons for why Civil War went down. They’d paraded him through a gauntlet of media people and lawyers and social media experts to teach him and the team the ins and outs of the things Tony had grown up doing.

It had been almost good. They had begun to repair their relationship with the public. Especially after two successful missions and their complete lack of issues in between. But then Tony had come back in a spaceship, mad as a hatter, hair longer than Thor is tall and apparently possessing some freaky-ass magic. It had effectively set them back at square negative eight. 

To make matters worse, Bucky, who by and large was still having a really bad time being human again, started gravitating. Like everyone else in Stark’s orbit, the two had started to circle each other until Natasha had reported that she’d seen them go into the same bedroom together. That’s probably the worst of it, really.

Stark had done in three months what Steve had failed to in nine, and now he’s taking everyone else away too. Sam’s gravitating towards Thor, who’s sticking with Loki, who is also with Tony. Nat is conflicted but Steve doesn’t know why (she won’t tell him). Wanda is apparently a known criminal according to a bunch of aliens, now. Clint is angry, too, but he’s not telling Steve why.

Already, he can feel himself losing the control as their pack splits between Thor (or Sam?) and Tony. So he has to fix it. He has to make some kind of compromise with someone. Anyone. He can’t lose his pack. It’s all he has.

Steve leaves the gym, punching bag swinging from it’s chain still. The days where he just destroyed one after another are gone; another thing to fall extinct due to the will of Tony Stark. 

“FRIDAY?” Steve asks, hesitant. The AI has not spoken to him unless she absolutely has to for the longest.

“Captain Rogers?”

“Nevermind,” Steve says, because he doesn’t want Tony to have another chance to slip by him. Besides, he knows where Tony likes to be. He takes the long route, calming himself and gathering what he’s going to say in his mind before he makes his way to a particular living room on the west side of the building. 

Sunlight streams through the large, floor to ceiling windows, sliding across and bathing Tony Stark where he lays out on a long, low sedan. Bruce sits reclined as well, half supporting Tony as he runs hands through long, wavy hair. They both seem a little asleep. 

A second sedan, pushed so that they face each other, creating a massive couch, holds occupants that make Steve’s breath catch. Loki is laid out across this one, back supported by the gently sloping single arm of the furniture, a cozy blanket spread across his lap. Next to him, Bucky lays on his side, dozing in the sunlight. 

Someone had obviously done his hair for him, because the strands are neatly pulled back into a ponytail, and his scruff has been trimmed and neatened into a real beard. His head, supported by a low comfortable pillow, presses, half obscured, into Loki’s side. His one good arm is thrown across the god’s hips. Steve can see his bare feet below the hem of his comfortable, loose jeans. 

Strange takes up the opposite side of the couch from Bucky, and he and Loki are working through whatever Loki’s reading right now, their smooth, low murmurs washing over the assembled group. Strange himself looks relaxed as well, his tunic long and dark red instead of his usual more ostentatious attire. He’s leaned into Loki as well, and his weird Cloak has seen fit to wander from his shoulders and around the room, checking on each sleepy occupant. Vision leans over both Strange and Loki, following their discussion. 

A giant chair turned towards the two sedans is taken up by Colonel Rhodes and Pepper Potts, both of which are working and keeping an eye on everyone. Steve wonders where Rhodey’s been all this time. He can understand wanting to stay away from Sam and himself, but now he’s just magically back? Like nothing happened? Steve doesn’t trust it. 

A chair on the opposite side of the room is taken up by Clint, who's pretending to be on his phone. Steve can recognize the signs of a loner easily enough that he doesn’t have to guess as to why he’s so far away from the others. Christie, who does Tony’s hair, is sitting near him, actually playing on her phone. Another loner. 

The second isn’t so bad. Christie was supposed to be in Tony’s corner, after all. But Clint is a part of his pack in a way Bucky just wasn’t stable enough to be. He’d known Steve and Clint were drifting for a while now, and it feels like Wanda’s kidnapping and near-trial just drove them further apart, but this hits like a blow to the stomach. 

It gets stranger, too. Several mechanical animals crouch or perch or lay curled up between the (sort of) humans. From what Steve can tell, they mimic pets. 

Several eyes have glanced at him. Christie’s is one of outright suspicion. Clint’s is guarded. Pepper and Rhodey both have flat, unimpressed expressions. Strange doesn’t even bother, and Tony doesn’t look up. Steve can’t tell if he’s asleep or just pretending to be.

Suddenly, Steve realizes that waking Tony up to ask him anything short of a world ending emergency is going to get him very, very dead.  He’s never been a coward, but even he knows that this is not a fight he can win. 

Steve turns away from the door and leaves just as quietly as he’d come. As he goes, he wonders how many people just randomly hang out while Stark takes a nap. That had to be his entire pack in that room (minus those who he hasn’t forgiven…). And they weren’t doing anything that required to be in there… they were just napping. That isn’t done unless someone feels threatened.

After all this time, he’s starting to feel like the bully. 

He’d always known that he’d made Stark uncomfortable. He’d always assumed that it had more to do with being one of those people who shied away from anything truly, fully honest. But that isn’t what Steve was, and it never really was, if anyone’s being honest. 

He leaves his room again and heads for the gym, where he tries his hardest to take the piss out of bags that don’t break anymore. 

There’s nowhere to go from here. He can’t not be an Avenger. Steve may be from the forties, but even he understands the issues that hiring him would bring, so he needs to be here, and to be paid for being here, and working under the Accords. On top of that, he only has a few skills. 

The first is fighting, but no one but his team trusts him to do that. The second is strategizing, but it seems like that only applies on the battlefield. The third is drawing, but he’s seen the kind of shit that people are putting out these days, and he knows he could compete, but not rent-in-New-York compete. 

Even getting another job- even one where his face is never seen, and his name is never said- would require an all new skill set that he just doesn’t have. The only people who would accept him as he is happen to be terrorists. Seriously.

And yet… the only place he can go is the one that wants him the least. He’s seen Sam and Thor, and had thought his third-in-command was just trying to make connections where they could be made, and not where they couldn’t. As it turns out, even Sam is getting tired of him, if he’s now in Thor’s pack. 

Briefly, Steve wonders how that’s going to work. Thor and Loki are not a traditional alpha or omega, and any notions of pack they might have would not be the same ones that humans do. They would, in short, need guidance. It makes sense that Loki would be with Tony- after all, if anyone were to show him how to bend rules and slip loopholes, well. It would be Tony. 

But Thor is, technically, the strongest, and it looks like he won’t be in the same pack with Loki, which means that the exact thing that makes him an illogical mess is going to be under someone else’s influence. If Tony can keep Loki in line, then Thor will likely be alpha. 

If Tony cannot keep Loki in line, then Thor’s attention will be split badly, meaning that he will make a bad alpha. If that happens, then Sam and Natasha might rule jointly, until one of them comes up with a stabilizing bondmate, or they will fight it out in the here and now. Even if that happens, though, Thor will still be the strongest alpha in that pack. He probably won’t switch to Tony’s pack, because Tony has Bruce, and the Hulk won’t accept a challenge that large. 

Either way, Steve’s a little on the screwed side. No matter what way the cookie crumbles, there will still be some serious connections between the two packs, and Steve isn’t dumb enough to think that he won’t be a threat to that. 

He just has to figure out a way to not be that. 

 

…

 

Rhodey glances over at Pepper, beside him, and further into the room at Tony, who is still asleep. Wanda’s little field trip through his head seriously fucked with his circadian rhythm, among other shit. After the truth of that FUBAR situation came out, Pepper and Rhodey are okay with him slacking off at the moment if it means the man actually does sleep.

In light of that, he would have had to put his non-functional foot up Rogers’ fucking ass if he’d had the audacity to actually wake Tony up. Seriously. Dead man walking over there. But instead, Steve had gotten this look, like he finally gets how far everything fell for him, and then just walked away. 

Rhodey hopes he gets it. He’s sick and fucking tired of playing interference between Steve and everyone else. FRIDAY is tired to. And also Pepper, because Pepper is the one who all complaints go by.

Well, technically, one of Tony’s people who happens to report to another of Tony’s people who then reports to Tony himself takes care of it. Rhodey doesn’t know her name, but her title is Joint Coordinator and her actual job description is varied. As near as anyone can figure, she takes all the complaints and requests that go up across the compound. She then sorts those complaints by subject and importance and assigns them to her people, who then take care of them. 

Originally, the system wasn’t so convoluted, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize that if the Exvengers had a direct link to Tony, the man’s life would go tits up. Quickly. So Tony has people, and his people have people, and so on and so forth.

 

… 

 

In the wake of Civil War, there had been an effort to “fix” the Avengers by offering mental health services to them, free of charge. So far, each of them has been assigned a “counselor” who’s supposed to offer advice and listen to problems. No judgement. No hatred. 

Steve has eight emails in his trash, all dating from the day Tony got back and onward. The first is a check-in, after a missed appointment. The second is the counselor, Mr. Clemmings, asking him to call. The third had asked him how he’s doing, and to please reschedule. The fourth through the eight had continued on in the same vein.

Steve opens the ninth email.

 

Mr. Rogers,

 

I understand that Mr. Stark is back. Please do not let that get in the way of your healing.

 

-Yours, Dr. Joel A. Clemmings

 

Steve stares for a long time at the email, before finally typing a reply. Three days later, he is sitting back in his therapist’s office.

“What brings you by, Mr. Rogers?” Dr. Clemmings asks easily. Calmly. Rationally.

“I think I get what went wrong, now.”

 

…

 

Ananzan is on the ships bridge now, staring out at the vast and empty space. Pilots and techs sit stiff and a little afraid. It isn’t often that someone as high ranking as she turns up here. Especially since this isn’t her area. Just before she hears a voice, a cloud of deadness rolls through the room, and she knows that someone else has stepped on the floor.

“Ananzan,” says a creature at least head and shoulders over even the tallest of them. Ananzan turns on one heel, clasps her hands in front of her body, and raises her chin slightly. Her body’s squared, and her face is neutral as she meets his eyes.

“Captain.”

“Come.”

Ananzan follows the Captain through the long, broad halls. Though she’ll never give this away, her stomach swirls and and clenches in something like apprehension, but it’s really more like fear. 

They go to the Captain’s private chambers, and Ananzan takes parade rest again, waiting. Nix sits down in the gigantic chair most get dressed down (sometimes literally) and maybe killed from. Hurt from. Taught lessons from.

“We will make landfall soon.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s ready?”

“I do not know, sir,” Ananzan answers truthfully enough. Nix leans forwards on his elbows, his volcanic rock skin and glowing purple eyes becoming more menacing and more dangerous the longer he stands there looking at her.

“He was under your protection. You trained him. Guarded him. Slept in the same room as him. Worked side by side with him. How could you not know?”

“He has always been an anomaly, sir,” Ananzan answers, and she reminds herself that no one can tell when the Captain is angry or not. That she shouldn’t stiffen up, or he may very well be, just for show.

“Come closer,” the Captain orders. Ananzan takes measured, quick steps. His hand reaches out to her, and cradles her entire head easily. It feels like a caress, his coldness matching her’s when she’s in this form. He runs one large thumb from Ananzan’s forehead all the way back to her crown.

“When I fight him, he will lose. When he loses, I will cut his hair off, and keep him close. If I find he can’t be saved, you will have failed me, and I’ll do the same to you. Do you understand?” he says, almost conversational. Ananzan nods, not daring to look away from him for even a second.

“In fact, you have already failed me. You did the day he ran,” the Captain breathes. With a quick flick of his fingers, he’s opened up the side of her face from temple to jaw in two clean stripes.

“Pray to what god has abandoned you, Ananzan, that you have not failed me entirely,” he says. His hands slides down to rest against her shoulder. As orange blood soaks into her hair and gives her pale, marble-esque skin a sickly color, he presses his huge thumb to her neck, just under the collar of her uniform. He hits a hard band. 

“Because if you have, I will make sure you never forget that I am the master, and I control you and every other worthless little piece of space shit here, and if you think you can fail me you. Are. Wrong,” he hisses out, pressing harder and harder at the band- the collar that binds her to him. She’s choking now, unable to breathe and still bleeding. He holds her there until her eyes roll up in her head and her knees grow weak.

She wakes up in medical. There are stitches in her face, and she knows it’ll scar ugly. They always do, when it’s from him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
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> I know this is late, but I was gone all damn day and completely forgot it was Friday until I saw SailorChibi’s updates in my inbox :(
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> (P.S.: SailorChibi is bomb as fuck)


	18. Mechanical Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony shows everyone his new project. there is a complication.

There are mechanical animals in the compound. There are hummingbirds zipping around drinking from any open cups (and occasionally pots), sparrows and ravens chittering and fluttering above everyone’s heads. There are parrots perched on any object sticking up. Railings, chair arms and backs, lamps, shoulders and heads (not always with consent of the owner of said heads) briefcases, etc.

There are house cats butting cold, metallic heads against hands, and knocking shit off tables, and occasional scratching the fuck out of people. There are dogs of all sizes, some of which are shoving their butts into people’s hands and wagging their tails, and others of which are flopping down onto people’s feet. Monkeys are swinging from wall decoration to wall decoration. 

Massive lions and panthers and tigers are padding around, taking up entire couches and, occasionally, tables in kitchens. They’re pulling packs of bacon off of counters and running around, getting literally anywhere no one wants them. 

Literally anything that fits are crawling into the vents.

That, by the way, is how Steve wakes up seven days after his first therapy appointment, four hours before the next one, to a small monkey painted in a burnished copper, blinking mechanical eyes at him. Steve looks at the ceiling, and sees that the creature had come in through the vent. 

The monkey gives a soft screech, if a screech can be soft. The monkey lightly pulls at his shirt collar, cocks it’s head to the side, and gives that soft, drawn out chirp at him.

“Hey, little guy. Where’d you come from?” Steve asks. He doesn’t move yet, but does take a glance at his clock. He has ten minutes before the five o’clock alarm is supposed to go off.

The monkey’s tail waves back and forth a bit as he move a little to the left, and then a little to the right, eyes taking in the room. Then he grips Steve’s shirt again and pulls lightly.

“Yeah, I guess it is time to get up,” Steve says. He sits up, which seems to be what the monkey wants. Steve has no idea where it’s come from, so he takes his clothes and changes in the bathroom. When he finishes getting ready for his morning run, the monkey is waiting. 

He allows it to come with him as he goes outside to the track to run his thirty miles. The monkey keeps pace with him for a bit, but when Steve speeds up past his slow jog after the first couple of miles, it slows to a walk. It’s almost as if it enjoys being passed by Steve. It gives off that soft little screech whenever Steve goes by. 

When he’s ready for his shower, the monkey waits for him. When he’s ready for his appointment, it follows him to the door but politely waits outside, clinging to a wall light while Steve sits for an hour, trying to talk out all the shit in his head. 

When Steve comes out, the monkey dutifully follows him to the kitchen, for breakfast, where, he makes chattering noises at a parakeet perched on a tea kettle. Steve watches in silence, first from the corner of his eye while he cooks, then directly while he eats, and Steve eats a fuckton. 

All that time, the monkey takes up different posts around the kitchen, and Steve watches the monkey chitter, and the monkey watches Steve eat, and a strange silence comes over them both. 

 

…

 

Bucky wakes up to a scratching at the door. He’s in Tony’s room again, sleeping with him and Bruce because it’s easier to sleep longer, and they don’t mind when he wakes them up with his nightmares. After all, they have nightmares too. Bucky shifts, and Tony shifts, too. He settles a little deeper into the pillow and pulls his arm back so that Bucky can get up.

“Answer it. It’s for you,” he mumbles. He doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. Bruce blinks his eyes sleepily.

“What did you do?” he mumbles into as he eyes the bed.

“Nothin’. Nothin’ dangerous, anyways.”

“Hmm. I hope you’re being honest,” he says as he watches Bucky make his slow, cautious way to the door. The scratching continues. Bucky eases open the door, and a metal cat pads in past him, jumps on the bed, and settles down on Bucky’s pillow. 

“What the fuck,” Bucky says. Tony just smiles.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you cuss, Bucky Bear,” Tony says after a moment. The mechanical cat has turned its attention away from Bucky to nose at Tony’s face.

“Why?” Bucky says. Tony shrugs, eyes still closed.

“Pep said I should try and relax… but I don’t do that, so I did something fun instead.”

“How many of these are there?”

“Forty-ish. Something like that. There’s a full batch in the fabricator right now, so it’s more likely to be like fifty by the end of the day.” Bucky edges closer to the… thing, body tense. He’s kind of really wishing he had a mechanical arm, right about now. 

“Does it bite?”

“Only if you abuse it,” Tony says. He turns over and curls deeper into Bruce’s side, ignoring Bucky’s mounting worry. Slowly, Bucky edges closer to the robot. He extends his hand out. He feels marginally calmer than he would, since a) Tony made it and b) Bruce isn’t irritated at him for making it. 

So the cat can’t be, like, a killing machine, right?

The mechanical cat extends it’s little cold metal nose and bumps it up against Bucky’s index finger once, then twice, and then rub its entire head against him. Bucky rotates his hand so that the cat is rubbing against his palm. It begins to vibrate, and Bucky can hear a pur.

“I like it,” Bucky says, and he thinks it’s the first time he’s said that. Tony doesn’t respond, too busy trying to sleep because god, it’s like seven a.m., but Bruce feels the smile Tony presses against his body anyways.

 

…

 

The parakeet was outside the door when Natasha finished her morning ablutions. It cocked it’s head, made it’s parakeet noise, and decided that Natasha belongs to it. She tries to duck it, but the thing is freakishly good at following her around. Seriously. This is fucking stupid. 

She would have hurt the little bastard, except every time it takes off, she can hear its wings (though she’s sure the fucker can fly quietly) and it’s letting off little chirps every now and then, and also there’s only one person who would make and release the variety of mechanical animals, and that’s Tony. Tony, whose good side she’s trying to get back on. 

So, yeah, she doesn’t hurt the thing, but neither does she accept its presence. She shuts every door she can in its face. She ducks it’s camera eyes any time it does a turn slow enough to not see her move. She doesn’t acknowledge the bird when she does have to do something mundane like eat. Or try and break Steve’s face during sparring. 

It’s when they’re at this last activity that she sees the copper monkey crouched on top of it a punching bag, the parakeet on its shoulder. Natasha looks at Steve for a moment. 

“That one yours?” She dodges a series of punches. A drop of sweat rolls down Steve’s forehead and onto the floor.

“Yeah, I woke up with him,” Steve pants out as he loses ground to Natasha’s fierce attacks.

“You trust him?” she asks again. Steve shrugs his shoulders as he finally gets another foothold in their fight.

“No, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t hurt him. Not if Tony made him.”

“No, I guess you can’t.” and they don’t say anything else about the animals, or about Tony, or about what it means that the animals are everywhere and are friends with each other. 

 

…

 

Clint sees a jaguar sitting outside his door. The skin is almost onyx in color, and well polished and shiny, like any well kept gem. The camera lenses tighten and loosen a bit as it focuses on Clint. The hinges in its jaw are visible on its face as the jaw relaxes. Clint can hear the hydraulics of the legs as it stands.

“Hey, bud,” Clint murmurs, as he quietly shuts the door behind him. He edges out along the hallway. The panther gives off a purr, and cautiously nudges it’s head up into Clint’s hand. Just then, the flutter of wings can be heard, and a mechanical hawk lands on the large shoulder of the panther. 

“Huh,” Clint says, cocking his head. The creator of these creatures is obvious, but less obvious is what the purpose is. Clint shrugs and turns to go get breakfast, still in his sweats. He needs coffee, and he’s fucking hungry. Also, if Tony’s got a purpose, then Clint won’t figure it out until Tony’s ready for him to figure it out.

So yeah. Breakfast.

By the time Nat stalks into the kitchen, Clint’s panther and hawk have been joined by a long, banded snake. Four different birds chirp as they flutter in behind her and settle around the kitchen, content to wait for Natasha to go about her business. Shortly after that, Steve joins them, and two monkeys take to paying with the birds. 

Sam is the next to join them. At his heels, a dog, long and lithe, pads in sedately and lays down quietly enough with the panther and the hawk and the snake. Sam doesn’t say much to any of them, just starts with his eggs the same way Natasha started with her granola and milk the way Steve started with his pancake batter and so on and so forth. 

Thor comes in, and as he goes past them where they’re sitting at the table and into the kitchen, they can see his hand clasped in Loki’s, who’s trailing behind him. A massive wolf-like dog stalks in after him, and Clint realizes that the snake curled around his panther must be Loki’s. 

After a while, Sam emerges with his food, and Loki and Thor each follow shortly after with massive mugs of coffee and a box of poptarts each. Thor is no more interested in letting Loki go than he was in letting Mjolnir go, way back in the day. 

Again, the changing dynamics show in the seating. Thor takes up the head of the table at one end, Loki at his side. Every so often, Thor brushes his fingers over Loki, as if to check that he’s still alive. This (un)coincidentally, is very near Sam. 

Natasha and Steve are both near the middle, but Nat is nearer to Thor. On the opposite side of the table, Clint sits near the head, the seat next to him empty. Breakfast gets a little harder to eat when Steve realizes just who is missing here. 

Then, the alarm goes off. 

 

…

 

Every single Avenger they can pull is somewhere in the largest conference room they have. It’s styled more like a lecture hall. Again, they’re polarized, with Thor on one side, Tony on the other, and everyone else somewhere in the middle. 

Maria Hill stands in front of them, quickly running down the information.

“This ship is larger than anything we’ve picked up so far, barring a Leviathan, and it looks like it’s set to land in America. If Dr. Stark is correct, than violence won’t be necessary, but be on guard, and be prepared. This is a slave ship, and they may be looking for new captives,” Maria says. Something warm blooms in Tony’s chest at the minute shifting of his pack members. They’re trying to be nearer, but without being unprofessional. 

 

…

 

Tony is sitting against the outside wall of the Compound, enjoying the silence. Loki appears.

“Do you intend to just… die?”

“No. I intend to kill,” Tony says, tilting his face a little to look at Loki properly. The mage sits next to him.

“How do you know you will win?”

“Because I’ve had seventeen years to figure it out.”

Then the alarm goes off.

Tony rises, and makes his way indoors. He doesn’t bother to go to the meeting, but rather heads down to his lab. He passes Bruce on the way, and nods. He passes Rhodey, and does the same. Everyone who needs to know what’s happening, after all, already knows. 

 

By the time the meeting lets out, everyone is suitably scared shitless, and they’ve pinpointed where the ship will land. It’s their literal backyard. 

The massive colonial does not land, but rather ejects a small ship, not unlike what Tony himself landed in months ago. The ship- a skip- begins its descent through the orbital field and into the atmosphere. It’s cloaking tech has fallen away, now. 

Two hours before it touches down, Tony waves his bots to their charging station, shuts down his work, pushes himself up, and emerges from his lab, where Loki is waiting for him.

“I could help. Magic you. Or something.” Tony shakes his head and smiles a little wanely. 

“I’d love it, Loki, but Nix will sense foreign magic on me; if I’m going to win for real- and I have to win for real- then it has to be under my own power.”

“You wear a suit of armor.”

“That I invented. I came up with every iteration of it, I created every update. I ran every aerodynamic formula for it. I created the hardware and the software and the interface. The suit is my power.” Loki crosses his arms.

“And your mind? Can he get inside?”

“Yes. No. He can sense emotions, but other than that, no. Besides, I do have some magic of my own now.”

“Yes. Strange doesn’t like it. I think he’s half tempted to drag you to Kamar-Taj. Or perhaps bring Wong to you, since I doubt you’ll be dragged.”

“Not unless Bruce is doing the dragging,” Tony muses as he walks slowly away from his lab, past dark and unused guest labs, and into the elevator. “Why are you the one down here, anyways? There’s like, a massive list of people who should be bothering me, and only you are here. No offence. It’s not that I don’t like you, Reindeer Games, but the chances of you being the one down here an hour before I go to my maybe death are less likely than Steve being here.” Loki rolls his eyes.  

“Strange has convinced them that bugging you serves no purpose, especially since you are wearing your damn charm, this time around.”

“Are you really still mad about that?”

“Of course I’m still mad! You swore up and down that you would be fine and what happens the moment I leave to handle my own business? You take a trip to, as you say, buttfuck, nowhere, to track down your thrice-damned lover and give him that charm you said you would keep on.

“Bruce is not thrice-damned.”

“He failed you three times,” Loki says with an incredulous tone to his voice. Tony snorts.

“Name them, smartass.”

“The time you attempted to tell him about the Mandarin. The time you went insane with madness and he, despite being the only one who could have successfully plead your case, disappeared. The time when he accepted that damn charm from you and didn’t make sure you were also protected.”

“I knew she couldn’t get to me.”

“She made you catatonic with illness,” Loki deadpans. He’s still worried about the lasting effects of that; Tony’s dreams have been even less pleasant since.

“And she learned her lesson,” Tony responds, tone chipper. The elevator doors slide open so that Tony can get to his room, where he digs out his best flight suit yet. This one is all black with deep gold highlights. They begin at the diaphragm, trail down his sides before drawing inward along the vee of his hips, then outward once more and extending halfway down the thighs. On his chest, just where his heart might be and where the arc reactor now is, an eight pointed star gleams out.

“Strange says the magic he got off the amulet is strange,” Loki begins again. “He says your magic is strange,” he tries while Tony walks into the bathroom. He leaves the door open. Loki sits on the toilet seat to keep talking while he resolutely does not look at his omega in the shower.

“He doesn’t like it,” Loki gets out. No sooner have the words left Loki than the shower door is slamming open and Tony is stalking toward him. Loki just eyes him, waiting to see what a naked mortal will do. 

“Do Asgardians have a specific way of preparing for war?” Tony asks, and Loki falls silent for a moment.

“Female warriors have their hair done by their closest companions, and Asgardians often sit in the company of those they are the closest to until the battle is nigh,” Loki says. Tony turns away to get underwear on.

“Well, I need my hair in three french braids. You feeling up to it?"

“Yes,” Loki says, and something settles inside him. Perhaps it is a need to be useful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
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	19. Nix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's mate finally shows up.

The skip lands much as Tony’s did. The ramp lowers, and two women file out. For aliens, they look strangely human. They are equally tall and pale, and one has black hair and a hook nose, while the other is blonde. They move to the sides of the gangplank, making way for a strange creature. 

He unfolds himself from the mouth of the ship, and his mass seems to increase with every step forward. For a moment, the three stand in silence, watching. They face a line superheroes, each with their own separate job, each praying that they don’t have to do them. 

From amongst them, Tony Stark steps out, his hair in their braids, his eyeliner as dark and perfect as always. He has his flight suit on and a pair of gloves. 

“Hello, Nix,” Tony says, and Strange realizes what he’s been missing this whole time.

“Stark. You ran from me.”

“This is true.” Tony takes a step closer, his two brown orbs meeting Nix’s four luminous ones.

“I’ll have to punish you for that,” Nix says, and he sounds almost sad. The human was one of his favorites. He’s already had to punish Ananzan for Stark’s flight. Tony inclines his head in agreement. Then, he peels the glove off of one hand and throws it near to Nix’s massive feet.

“I’ll have to pass, I think,” Tony responds. His tone is conversational, but his eyes are as cold as the ocean Steve Rogers froze in. Nix kneels to pick up the glove. He holds it in front of his face, studying it.

“Very well,” Nix says after a tense thirty seconds. The black-haired alien, Ananzan, turns back to the ship. At her orders, a quadruplet of bald-headed, red-skinned aliens file out of the ship. They travel in a square, setting heavy metal balls down as they go. 

The balls begin to click, and, suddenly, before anyone can react, they create a barely-visible forcefield. The space has been cordoned, and the arena has been chosen. Tony knows that, with time, someone might figure out how to get through, but not before the match is over. He just hopes he ran his numbers right.

“Shall we?” Tony says. He spreads his arms out, and seemingly from nowhere, black specks begin to swarm over his body, hardly distinguishable from the flight suit. They creep down his hair, lock tight over his face, cover his body snugly. The mask is a blank nothing, and everything he wears is black on black on black. 

And then the suit powers up, a face etching across the mask in gold.

“Do you like it?” Stark asks, voice mechanical as he begins moving forward. He holds out one arm, fingers flexing, and spear materializes in his hands. “I call it Smiley Face.”

The ring of spectators are silent, waiting. They want to charge in; to attack this Nix person together, but there’s an entire colony up there, and their well-being depends on this going down as it should. It’s either standing still now, or an out and out swarm on the lawn later.

Nix and Tony are circling each other. The smiling visage on Tony’s armor never gives anything away. He keeps his center of gravity low to the ground as he and Nix go around and around. 

Tony’s got a grip on a spear that’s made out of the same swarming black specks, and on his own he looks scary. Nix, however, dwarfs any uneasiness the Smiley Face armor might give anyone. The man is massive and heavily protected. Chainmail and plate armor stretch across his expansive body. He reaches behind him. The slide of the massive sword as it appears makes apprehension pool in everyone’s gut. 

Tony doesn’t wait for it to be fully drawn. He takes a flying leap and strikes Nix at the seam between the shoulder and chest plates, then drops like a stone before jetting away. Nix shakes his head and goes for Tony’s zipping body with one of his smaller, faster arms. He just barely misses, but the displaced air from his hand is enough to knock Tony off balance enough that he clips the wall of the force field and suffers a shock for the misstep.

It’s right then that he begins to lose. With Tony down for the moment Nix pulls his sword, which is longer and broader than anything anyone’s ever seen before. He turns and, at the far end of the arena where he and Tony are facing off (and Tony is only just now recovering), he cuts his sword down in a deadly arc. 

Tony jets away, and the black specks from before seemingly leaking up out of the ground. The congregate around Tony as he goes until they form a solid, buzzing mass that builds and builds. At the same time, Nix draws his three other swords and begins to try hitting Tony with a windmill of blades. 

The black specks suddenly form a cannon, and with only the woosh of displaced air to alert him, what looks like grapeshot explodes against Nix, putting two dozen dents in his armor. The cannon dissolves and the specks move away as Tony again tries to jam his spear into the cracks of the plate armor.   

He gets a few hits in, but with four arms and an uncanny sense of the space around him, Nix is not making this easy. Tony needs to wrap this up and do it quickly. He’s already been knocked back once. If he hits that force field just right, he’ll snap his neck, Smiley Face be damned. 

He reforms the cannon twice, and while Nix half dodges the third shot, that is where Tony gets lucky. Four different ball bearings, as he’s come to think of the individual projectiles as, strike at the seams of the armor. That is what he’s looking for. 

Those shots that strike at the cracks in the armor flatten and sink inside, stabbing through the strange cloth and into the even stranger flesh beneath. Nix makes his first grunt of pain as the rest of the shot falls away and reforms into another cannon. Before this one can fire, though, Nix slashes his sword through it, while another reaches for Tony. It sufficiently divides his focus enough that he can’t get the cannon to reform. God fucking dammit. 

Okay. New plan. He pulls some of the specks (balls of nanobots; the same thing Smiley Face is made out of) in towards himself and forms a second suit, modeled after the HulkBuster armor. Nix has shrunk down to one of his smaller iterations to swing faster, so Tony is up to his chest at this point. He strikes at his throat, hoping to get up enough speed to push air from him even through the plate armor, but Nix’s swords come around and stab through the HulkBuster, narrowly missing Tony’s actual body. 

Stupid move on Tony’s part. The swords give Nix the leverage to throw him back towards the nearest wall of their arena, and Tony suffers a second shock that rips a scream up out of his throat. Thank god the audio isn’t on for this suit.

He recovers quicker than he did last time, the nanobots learning on their own with Tony to guide them. 

“Come on, come on,” Tony murmurs. He needs to make Nix phase up. He can change his size at will, but he is not immune to the effects of an increased mass. If Tony can get him going slower, then he will stand more of a chance to avoid the bastard. 

“I find myself pleased your children never made it,” Nix says as he takes another four swings at Tony and the smaller mad dodges. He starts to pull more nanobots into himself. He needs a larger suit.

“I wouldn’t want to raise a kid with you,” Tony spits out as grief rockets through his chest. He had three miscarriages and one live birth, and he loved that baby. That Nix is bringing it up now is a clear attempt to throw him off his game, but Tony is not in a place to allow that to happen. Not with the cause of right here. He can only pretend like he’s over it.

The new suit is ready, and Tony is now a little taller than Nix, and he forms a crossbow in one hand and a shield in the other. 

“You could have kept her, of course, but then I would have had to share my prize,” Nix says.

“Fuck,” Tony breathes into the quiet of his helmet. 

For a moment, he sees his baby. She was larger than any human child had a right to be at birth, skin grey as the day is long, but smiling so sweetly up at him with his mother’s big brown eyes. He’d had to stay in the infirmary for an age after her birth, because she had just about torn everything there was to tear, and he needed time.

Privately, he knew Willow did not trust that Nix would stay patient. She knew he would likely push Tony to far and he would bleed out before help could be found. If it weren’t for that fact, he might have left those sterile white tables behind to be in the care of the mate he never wanted.

He comes back to himself to realize that he had paused for a fraction of a second, and Nix stabbed Tony through with his smaller sword. This time, he does strike flesh, and this time, Tony cannot avoid it. He lays there as shocks reverberate through him, watching the way Nix approaches. He has slowed, savoring the victory. 

Tony sees his baby, dead not six months after birth. He sees his other children, all miscarriages that were late enough along that he’d swelled with them, and they too had done damage on the way out. 

He sees all those times when Nix had watched him, laughter in his eyes as Tony did whatever he had to do to stay alive. Sex with the bastard had landed him private sessions with Willow more than once. The bond bite had nearly crushed his spine. 

He sees all the other people who had caught him up against walls and left him bleeding and sore and bruised just because they could. He sees Ananzan, forcing him into a roll he shouldn’t have to take, because to not do it would have been to assure her own death and a worse fate for him.

He sees these things, and he closes his eyes, and pulls at the nanobots. They leave him, and they form great waves that crash one after the other into Nix. They pick away at his armor, form fissures from hairline fractures, and split metal said to be invincible by the sheer pressure of their numbers. Tony’s vision is going grey as he pulls every last nanobot he can find, including the Smiley Face suit, away from himself and sends it all crashing towards Nix.

He wriggles them into his body and he spreads them along his veins. He chokes the veins and arteries, explodes the aorta, deadens the heart by stopping up the valves. He swarms into the brain and there, he sees heaven, and he sees hell, and he knows he wants neither.

Nix falls, as dead as his children, against the destroyed lawn, and nanobots drip out of his orifices, and Tony can’t lift his head anymore, but he knows that it is done.

The bond bite on his neck burns with all the hellfire Thor told them stories of and then some. As the shields start to come down, and the ground vibrates with approaching feet, Tony closes his eyes, and he feels the madness consume him.


	20. Approved Guest List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others aboard the Colonial are not dumb enough to let just anyone in to see Tony.

There’s a demon at the mouth of the ship. She stands there, skin rocky, eyes like fire, mouth down in a permanent scowl, and answers questions. Pepper exits the back door of the Compound and makes her way across a large, ruined patch of earth. Her Tony- her longtime best friend- is lying there, maybe dead, definitely dying, and the demon won’t let anyone inside. 

They can’t even storm the place, since that might cost them Tony. So far no one’s been permitted to attempt anything solo, which is why Rhodey’s still out here. Rhodey, though, answers to the military. Pepper answers to herself. 

She keeps her shoulders back and marches, steadfast and cold, right up to the big human-looking creature. Narrow, purple eyes settle on Pepper.

“Who are you?” and god, the demon’s voice is deep.

“Virginia Potts. CEO of Stark Industries. That’s my best friend you’ve got in there.” Maybe Pepper imagines it, but she thinks she sees something like a smirk.

“You are approved,” the demon says. She calls out something in another language, and one of the bald-headed aliens appears. This creature leads Pepper back to the back of the ship, and a floor below, where Tony is laying in what looks a little like the glass coffin from Snow white, except the coffin actually did something, the glass is some kind of pale yellow energy field, and no flowers decorate his body. 

The place where he was stabbed is a mass of free floating tissue around a large hole. Aside from slight breathing, he doesn't move. Only the bits of matter around his abdomen and the soft light are making any discernible changes.

They’ve stripped him down and washed him. For the first time, Pepper sees all the scars. She can see the random placements of scars that concentrate around his limbs, with a handful over vital organs. There are other, more clearly intentional scars, too. A series of slash-like scars across his thighs and curving around his back. Whip marks, clearly. Circular burns make a pattern over both iliac crests. 

He had, evidently, been wearing makeup, because tiny scars that Pepper has never seen before are visible now around his face. Pepper wonders who he was hiding those from. She doesn’t sit, but rather watches the red particles as they slowly reassemble in Tony’s gut.

“We got some off that of Nix’s blade,” a new voice says. Pepper looks up to see the blonde alien from before.

“Got what?” She asks. The alien gestures to Tony’s abdomen.

“The extra flesh. The machine is a simple one. We take what we can off whatever field that was fought on, and it does the rest,” The alien goes on.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“It seems like you’d want to know. You are Pepper Potts, correct?”

“Yes.”

“As far as we know, only you and a couple of other people are a safe bet.”

“Safe for what?”

“Murder. He was here for a long time. Long enough that I didn’t think he’d ever make it back home. We know what people he trusted,” the black-haired alien says. 

“As far as I know, no one does. Not off this ship,” the blonde chimes in. 

“They don’t,” the black haired one answers. 

“But you sound like you thought he would,” Pepper interrupts. 

“I thought he would make a break for it. I didn’t expect him to win. Not until he actually left,” the black haired alien says.

“Why?” Pepper says. The second demon has an almost delicate look to her features. Her hair, long and blonde and straight, falls to her knees. Her nose is ever so slightly curved inward, and her eyes are blue and luminous.

“Because he’s smart, and he had years worth of knowledge stored up. And he was the one who brought a lot of them back.” The demon turns a bit and offers her hand.

“Willow. I run the infirmary.”

“Pepper. It sounds like you already know.”

“I do.” Pepper turns back to watch Tony. 

“Did you ever do work on Tony?”

“I did most of it. I know most of the scars.” Pepper is tempted to ask about it. She knows that she may be able to get more of this long and convoluted story out of Tony. But she also knows that there are things that Tony doesn’t want her to know. Things he’s purposely kept hidden.

Up until now, Tony has kept her in the loop. She knew about Nix’s arrival along time before anyone else did. She knew what games he was running at the Compound, as did Rhodey. She knows what happens next. His plans have worked so far, and he hasn’t kept her out, but rather let her be as at peace as she can be.

If he doesn’t want her to know, well, she’ll have to trust that he will tell her if she needs to more. Beyond that, well, that’s his business. So she won’t pry. She’ll just… handle business. Like she always does.

“Who else can get in?”

“Someone he only called ‘Rhodeybear’.”

“Okay,” Pepper says, a curl of amusement in her belly. Rhodey is never going to live that name down, is he?

 

…

 

Tony wakes up slowly, and immediately wishes he didn’t do that. Waking up, he means. His head aches something fierce, and his whole body feels like it’s been put in a blender. He also feels inexplicably, inescapably like the world has ended. 

“Easy,” someone says, and their voice is muffled, and nothing feels real right now. There is this deep ache in his head and at his side and also over his neck. Then he remembers. Nix is dead. Oh, god, he is, isn’t he? He’s… he’s gone. Tony… killed him.

Tony hears a high, plainative keen and it takes him far too long to realize it’s his own voice that is making that noise. It’s his own throat vibrating. Shame begins to creep in quickly. He killed Nix. He has no right to be feeling this way.

“Tony. Come on, Tones. It’s alright. Just- there we go. Open your eyes for me, baby,” Tony hears. He ignores the voice. He has to wait. Nix is angry with him, and this time he’s settled on keeping Tony at arms length. He’ll have to wait until he comes back. He’s not sure what he did. 

Nix likes it when he fights. If he does it well enough, there might not even be a punishment. Nix might just fuck Tony, and, well, that’s punishment enough, right? Especially if there’s a baby. Especially if Tony doesn’t do anything drastic in time, and it’s one of the ones that he actually had to properly think about. 

There were four of those. The rest… well. 

Maybe that’s what he needs to do? Finish the fight? Maybe he’s feeling this shitty because Nix likes to watch him enter the arena and get torn apart. One of the only times Tony can remember Nix actually smiling was that time after his third baby when he’d tried to permanently damage his womb. That time he tore himself apart.

Nix had him sent to the infirmary, where Willow fixed his damage. Then he wasn’t seen for weeks because he was confined to Nix’s chambers. It had been bad. Or not. Maybe it was actually good, and Tony didn’t like it because he’s the one who was bad.

That’s gotta be it, right? Tony got fucked up fighting but Nix didn’t want him to so now Nix is ignoring him until Tony gets it. If Tony were smarter he would have gotten that right off. But Tony isn’t smart. He’s just a stupid human in stupid fucking space and he doesn’t know anything.

He needs Nix. He hates Nix. He loves Nix. He’s attached to Nix. He wants Nix to burn but also to come back and hold him like he did after his fourth miscarriage and that time he got injured so badly he saw his intestines laying out in front of him. It was nice when Nix held him.

So why is he ignoring him now?

 

…

 

Loki and Stephen stand side by side in the small infirmary. It only has three beds that fold away, and in one of them is Tony Stark. He woke up earlier, briefly. Bruce was here, then. He seemed almost coherent, but then he started mumbling about being bad and Nix so Loki gave up hope of getting any sort of sense out of him. 

Loki looks at Stephen.

“What is wrong with him?” This is not how these things usually go. Stephen holds up a hand, thumb extended, fingers tucked.

“His bonded is dead.” The index finger extends, “That bonded was abusive.” The middle finger uncurls. “He is the one who killed his bonded.”

“Oh,” Loki says. He’s never been bonded before. Not willingly, anyways. They never stuck, either. The two occasions when someone had sought to force a bond had ended in a disappearance who everyone knew the cause of (but couldn’t prove) in the case of the first and an out and out public example in the case of the second.

Loki had felt something… like an improperly cared for wound being torn open again; awful, but necessary. He’d always known that would happen. He’d known that it was absolutely the work of the strange magic that binds. It had felt not unlike breaking a blood contract. 

Yet Stark was clearly going through something much more drastic. Or perhaps he’s never broken a blood contract before, and so wouldn’t have anything to compare it to. Perhaps it is not so different, after all.

“Do you suppose he will recover?” Loki says, voice uncannily soft and unchallenging. The last time Strange heard him like this, he didn’t have any memories and the Sorcerer Supreme was genuinely worried about his body just quitting on them. (He had put in an IV to try and speed up the regaining of weight, way before Loki would remember such a thing.)

“I don’t know. We don’t know, really, what all happened to him up there. It might just be that there are worse things he’s lived through,” Stephen says. Loki seems almost… sad.

“Very few things are worse than a broken bond,” he says, finally. Especially a bond that had managed to grow. 

“I believe there are bigger fish to fry,” Stephen says. Carefully, aware that the omega next to him might just bite him for fun, he pulls Loki out of the ship, leaving Tony to Rhodes’ watchful, dangerous gaze. 

“Bigger how?” Loki queries as they step into the Sanctum Sanctorium together.

“Do you know how I became Sorcerer Supreme?” Stephen asks, and it’s almost conversational as he sets about making tea. 

“Wong mentioned a somewhat stupid extra-dimensional creature?” Loki half states, half asks.

“Yes. His name is Dormammu. I am positive that the creature Tony just killed was his servant, which means he’s found a loophole back to earth, after all,” Stephen says as he begins to float tomes over to Loki. the Cloak has disembarked from Stephen’s shoulders and flutters anciently about the room, occasionally drawing Stephen’s eyes to this or that volume. 

“Well, that is quite the mess,” Loki murmurs as he begins to read the first book.

_ An Unabridged History of Enoch _ is emblazoned in burnished gold across dark leather. Loki cocks an eyebrow as he begins to read.

“Why Enoch?” He queries as his finger glides down the table of contents. He figures it out a second before Strange tells him. Chapter XXXII: First Death

“He’s one of the only people speculated to have journeyed to the dark dimension and lived for longer than a few minutes,” Stephen says as he places four more books a top their already precarious stack. “Christian mythology has it that he did not die a proper death but was, and I quote, ‘taken by god’, though we have records of him returning sometime after that. He won’t make another appearance in Christian writing, though.”

“So some god-like figure steals a man out of thin air? Who would allow something like that,” Loki says. He seems a bit offended. Stephen waves a hand dismissively. 

“One would think that a norse deity would know where Enoch was coming from. There will always be a massive force, and those who are just fleas in comparison. Of course they’ll count a kidnapping as a blessing,” Stephen says. Once again, Loki just nods.

“I suppose you are right. Other than his unfortunate demise, what are we looking for, precisely? And why am I here?” Stephen shrugs.

“By my count, an extra-dimensional being just sent a lackey through a hole in the fabric of reality and that lackey has been dicking around aboard his own slave ship instead of coming to earth. We are looking for anything- anything at all, that could explain someone’s motives. Anyone’s, really. You are here because you have more experience with conniving warlords than I do. Mine had the patience of a four year old, so.”

Loki cracks the thinnest of smiles and begins to read of Enoch, to see what may be learned. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
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	21. New Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inhabitants of the skip make themselves at home on earth. Tony and Stephen are slipping. Trigger warnings for reference to rape (nongraphic; implied)

“So you’re telling me… that based on stories that you don’t even have confirmation for, I am Tony’s priority,” Pepper says, disbelief in her voice. The black-haired demon (Ananzan, Pepper’s learned) nods. 

“You and Colonel Rhodes, as well as the ‘Spiderkid’. After that, it appears that Dr. Banner has also made the list. Everyone else, I do not trust.”

“So I won’t have to worry about say… Steve Rogers trying to sneak in to see if Tony’s alright or something.”

“Steve Rogers will lose whatever hand he grips the door handle with if he tries that,” Ananzan says. Pepper has no doubt that she means it. 

“And that goes for anyone?”

“You and Colonel Rhodes are the only ones who will not allow anyone dangerous near him. As you are familiar with terra and I am not, I will have to entrust his well-being in part to you. Without your say so, no one goes in, and no one goes out,” Ananzan explains one more time. They are standing in the sitting room of Tony’s suite at the Compound. 

Tony himself is asleep in the bedroom. Ananzan estimates forty-one minutes before he wakes up from a dream. 

“That’s… good,” Pepper says. She takes a fortifying breath. 

“Can… can you explain how this whole business works?” She queries. She hasn’t gotten the chance to ask yet. Not with the Accords counsel losing their shit and SI investors getting scared and Tony still knocked the fuck out, even if they no longer had him on ice. Rhodey nods in agreement.

“The Captain of the ship is both a title and a duty. As you know, Nix held it previously. There are two parts to being the Captain: one must be able to control the ship, and one must be able to control the inhabitants. It was foreseen that any fight resulting in a new captain would require recovery from. As such, certain individuals are appointed to serve as temporary Captains. 

“When Stark recovers, I will likely be his second; he knew me best, and I believe we were the closest, dangerous as that was. Accordingly, I decide how things are going to go, and I entrust them to you. Willow will likely be named his third, since she has seen a great deal of things the rest of us have not. It is any man’s game after that,” Ananzan finishes. 

She falls quiet. There’s a movement from the bedroom. Everyone stands stock still for a while, waiting to see if Tony really will surface. They hear a low series of murmurs, and then Bruce steps out into the sitting room as well. 

“He is still asleep,” he murmurs. “I’m worried about post-break bond-sickness more than anything at this juncture.”

“I shall entrust you to keep him well enough,” Ananzan says, dipping her head. Bruce joins them.

“We need a plan,” Pepper says. As good as Tony’s been about telling her stuff so she won’t freak out (much), he still neglected to mention that he would be out of commision. Pepper doesn’t know why she didn’t see that coming. 

His first few weeks back on earth he called her and Rhodey at the asscrack of dawn because he couldn’t handle how quiet it was. Whatever happened in space had fucked him up. His last year, spent totally in silence as he sped towards earth in a small space ship, had done him no favors, either. 

“We can use a baby monitor,” Bruce suggests, “or have FRIDAY watch over him.” Pepper nods and leads them out of the room. Ananzan stays, likely to give them time to get their shit together. Bruce wonders if he’s imagining it when he thinks he sees something like a genial (read: murderous) smile on her face.

 

… 

 

“Do you think the same trick will work twice?” Stephen says aloud. Why he’s saying anything aloud, Loki does not know. A few months ago, they would not look at each other without some form of fight breaking out. A few weeks ago, Loki found it hard to talk without remembering just how fucking weak he’d been. 

But now they’re tackling a problem together, so there’s that.

“Perhaps, but that way lies madness,” Loki muses. Stephen had told him of his simple, yet ingenious method of disposing of Dormammu. 

“But if I could rework it…”

“That way,” Loki says into the small pause, eyes boring into Stephen’s, “lies madness. There are better ways. Remember that he has infinite ways to get around any agreement you may craft as well as infinite time to make that happen. You need a permanent solution.”

“Why do you care?” Stephen asks. Some of their residual tension rearing its ugly head in the wake of the revelation that Stephen’s sacrifice had been for nothing, if Dormammu could slip servants through the cracks in the world.

“Because I have been there before,” Loki says. In the void, a moment was days, and a day was years. He would go through extensive torture where they would do things like boil him alive so that the frost giant in him screamed for mercy the way nothing else would (not at that juncture). Then they would do some sort of spell, and he would realize that it had only been a moment.

It was only ever just a moment. Part of why he had broken down, in the end, was because he couldn’t stand the time stretch.  Couldn’t stand how everything warped out of his control and beyond his belief. He is not stupid enough to think that Stephen would not eventually crumble under the same, unending death march. 

“Perhaps,” Loki says, because he helps no one by vetoing plans but offer no alternative or even a place to start looking for one, “we ought to see Tony, and ask him questions to come up with a plan.” 

“Tony is out of his mind right now.”

“Well he will eventually regain his faculties to a degree. It is not as though he had them all to begin with,” Loki says. He tries to sound agreeable. There’s something raw and dark under Stephen’s skin. It is as though he is a caged animal, striving towards a freedom he will never reach. Is this the doctor who had just lost his entire life and burned the remnants?

Is this what he had trained into tameness and away from the light?

Loki rises from his seat at the low table he’d been reading at for hours now. He approaches Stephen where the man is skimming the books again and, with a low hum to announce his proximity, he reaches out his fingers to touch them against the side of Stephen’s hand. 

Instantly, the connection forged during after the exorcism flairs to life. Their magic awakens and curls around each other. It is firm on Loki’s end, and wild, yet tentative, on Stephen’s. Almost without conscious thought, Stephen steadies under Loki’s easy, inviting influence.

“Why?” Stephen says.

“It is the least I could do,” Loki murmurs. Stephen drifts just that much closer, and Loki lifts his head slightly in invitation. It seems to startle Stephen that they’re here now. His silver eyes watch Loki’s green ones, unreadable. 

Cloak, however, isn’t having that shit, he wraps around their heads and tightens marginally. With a laugh, Loki plants a kiss on Stephen’s cheek.

“Are you willing?” he murmurs.

“For what, precisely?”

“Me,” Loki says, and that isn’t precise at all. It does not tell Stephen anything about what is going to happen now and yet- the beautiful green of Loki’s magic has swirled around his own kaleidoscope of color (most often silver, like his eyes) in a mosaic just out of sight of the normal eye. 

Stephen turns his head just right, and his lips brush gently along Loki’s in a kiss so chaste he half expects to be laughed out of the library. Loki is much older in actual years, and though he’s never confirmed it, Stephen knows he has children somewhere. He’s more experienced, and he is the calm one in this situation.

What right does he have to want any of this, anyway? Dormammu has slipped his leash. Thanos draws nearer and nearer. 

Loki brushes his mouth by Stephen’s again on the second pass, and the Sorcerer Supreme is pulled back to this exact moment. Pulled back to the warm darkness of Cloak’s interior. Pulled back to the fact that Loki is standing there, fingers brushing over Stephen’s palm in just the barest reflection of holding hands.

Stephen preses in, just barely, and he feels something beginning to calm down in him.

“There you are,” Loki murmurs. His fingers travel up Stephen’s arm, over his shoulder, around his neck to cup his jaw. When he kisses Stephen properly, something angry and tight gets lost in Loki’s gentle chuckle and the slide of a wet tongue across Stephen’s bottom lip.

 

…

 

Tony Stark sits on the edge of his and Bruce’s bed. He’s hunched over, eyes vacant as he stares out at nothing. His beard is overgrown and messy. It’s hard to tell if he’s awake or asleep. Is he coming or going (he can barely decide)? Where is Nix? 

The door opens, and a blonde demon kneels in front of him. Her hands take his. Her thumbs rub softly against scar tissue. Her eyes are lovely and luminous and blue. 

“You will have to wake up eventually,” the demon murmurs. Like this she looks human, with her pretty hair curling from scalp to knee. 

“He’s gone, isn’t he? It’s hard to remember,” Tony says. Tears fill his eyes, wet his lashes, then spill over and down his face. His bottom lip wobbles and he seems to nearly faint forward and into the demon’s waiting arms. 

“Yes, Tony. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.” The events of the past week or so come back to him with a little more clarity.

“That makes me Captain,” he whispers. His tone is complicated. There’s predominantly horror there, though Willow knows he’s thought of all of this before hand. He knew what challenging Nix would do. There’s also that numbness that he had the first time he miscarried. Willow hopes that doesn’t stick. Tony is frighteningly vulnerable when he gets that way. 

“Just focus on waking up,” Willow says as she rubs her thumb across Tony’s knuckles. She produces Tony’s phone from the inside pocket of her coat and hands it to Tony.

“I am awake,” Tony says. And how could he not be? His eyes are open. He’s talking. How is he asleep? Willow smiles sadly.

“Not by a long shot.”

Later, when Bruce is beside him, Tony watches the rise and fall of his chest. Does he even care?

Like really. Does he even fucking care? He came back. Technically. Tony only had to go out in the middle of buttfuck, nowhere to get him, and offer him a necklace with magic that was extremely hard to replicate, but he did return (right?). He won’t run off. He has… protection.

Tony’s protection. Tony’s his mate.

But he’s not, is he?

No, Tony’s actual mate (that he didn’t want, but don’t tell anyone) just died.

It’s Tony’s fault, because Tony’s a disloyal bitch, and he should be hanged.

Post haste.

Tony slips out of bed.

“Be quiet FRIDAY,” he murmurs. He just… wants to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are appreciated.   
> Update day is Friday.  
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	22. Burned Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper and Ananzan come to an agreement. Tony wanders.

Pepper and Ananzan sit in the small lounge area of Pepper’s sizable office. There is a tea set spread out on the coffee table. It is one of Pepper’s pretty collector sets that she never gets to use because Tony’s accident prone, and Rhodey doesn’t drink tea. But now Ananzan is here, and she seems amenable to doing whatever ritual Pepper dictates. 

“Do you have any idea what direction Tony will take this?”

“I haven’t the faintest,” Ananzan says as she gently stirs more sugar than Pepper thinks absolutely necessary into her tea. By absolutely necessary, by the way, Pepper means the maximum amount that can be stirred into eight ounces of liquid without causing instant stomach issues upon ingestion. 

“He both hates and loves Nix. It is part of the reason why his mind is so scattered now.”

“And the rest of it?” Ananzan shrugs a shoulder.

“I have been attempting to understand, in human terms, the things we went through. I believe the best way to describe his state- all of our states- is conditioned. He may carry on the status quo, or he may reshape it. He may also break it entirely, though that seems unlikely.”

“Why?”

“That would result in anarchy. Someone else would claw their way up, and that would keep happening until someone could maintain the position. The status quo would be reestablished, possibly in a worse way than before.

“I suppose he is more likely to change the rules but keep the system for now, then worry about the rest after. He has stayed connected with terra this entire time, so I believe he will do things better than Nix did.”

“Is everyone conditioned?” Ananzan nods as she takes a delicate drink.

“What did Nix do?”

“It was mostly what we did to each other. Anyone with a higher status than could do whatever they wanted,” Ananzan murmurs. It’s said so calmly and so quietly that Pepper knows Ananzan’s unaffected attitude is a damn lie. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Pepper gently rest her hand against Ananzan’s larger one. 

“I’m sorry.”

“When… I met Stark he was in the infirmary,” she said, low and fast. Pepper snaps to attention, though she doesn’t remove her hand. “Nix told me to train him. He had his eyes set on Stark a long time before anyone else knew about it. I was supposed to manipulate him into being just right, and then Nix would deal with the rest.” Ananzan looks Pepper dead in the eye.

“Make no mistake about it: I did. Understand this, Miss Potts: there are no innocents on that ship. Don’t ever let any of us tell you differently.” Their eyes bore into each other. Their hands are still resting one on top of the other. Their tea cups cool in their hands.

“Neither are we,” Pepper says, “and we didn’t need to be conditioned to make this a dog eat dog world. So I will make you a deal. If I ever catch you manipulating Tony, I will personally hang you. I will get his entire pack, and we will all make a celebration of hanging you. Then we will hunt down whoever the hell helped you, and hang them too. But if you do what it looks like you’re doing, and protect him- be the person you should have been for him- then I’ll put it behind us. Do we have a deal?”

Ananzan watches Pepper for a moment before she gently lifts her hand and presses the barest, driest of kisses to the skin of Pepper’s knuckles.

“You are far too generous.”

“No,” Pepper says, because she’s seen this before, except there was no one to make people be manipulative, then, “I’m not.”

 

…

 

Tony wanders the hallways, vision tilting. Maybe it is because he’s dizzy. Maybe it is because he’s moving his head. Maybe it is because… god, he doesn’t know anymore. He wonders if he ever did. 

He comes upon a large sitting room. The moonlight strikes at an angle over sleek, modern furniture. Someone’s left a cup on the coffee table. Huh. It must be some time past one or so in the morning. He wonders if Bruce will notice he’s gone.

The man was busy all day. They left him with Willow. Willow wants him to wake up, but he is awake. Isn’t he? Tony tugs the edges of his robe closer. It’s black silk. He’d managed to get into and out of the shower on his own and put it on over matching snug boyshorts. He thought Bruce would like it.

He forgot to show them to him.

Other than the studs in his ears, he’s got nothing else on. There’s a movement at the other door, and his breath catches in his chest.

 

…

 

Tony’s hair is the sleep-mused sort of half wild that Steve desperately misses. He remembers when Tony would have to get up early for a meeting. He would stumble into the kitchen and just take his time drinking a cup of coffee. One time, Steve asked him how he didn’t manage to get up before seven unless at gunpoint, but managed to motivate himself enough to get up even earlier than he had to.

Tony told him that on days when he has those shamefully early meetings, it was likely going to be the last bit of time he’d get to himself. Everything else was going to be his job.  

The point is, though, that he used to sit there in whatever he had gone to bed in (sometimes it was his workshop clothes, so the smell of Steve’s early morning sweat would be mixing in with engine oil). He would be so tired, just hunched over his first couple of coffee for the day. He’d barely be remaining upright, and his hair would just be fucked up. The gel would be long gone, or, if he’d had a shower, non-existent. 

His italian curls had been obvious and wild, and sometimes he’d let Steve sit with him. He used to enjoy that- breathing in Tony’s spice-and-metal omega-ness underneath his engine-oil-and-fire workshop smell. One time, he was so tired that he let Steve reach out and brush his hair into some semblance of normal.

It wasn’t a fairy tale type thing. No, the hair was stuck together in places because Tony never could keep his hair clean whenever he really went on a workshop binge. It was dirty, and greasy, and Steve knows he was a little grossed out at the feeling. But Tony was so tired, and the mess just made him look cute, so he ignored the dirtiness and rearranged the strands.

Now Steve and Tony are standing in the living room. Steve knows he should leave. He knows that Tony’s too vulnerable. That nothing the omega does here today will reflect on him, but that the opposite is true for Steve. He knows he should get Bruce. Or that demon lady. Either one of them, really. But he can’t leave Tony alone, can he?

“Tony?” Steve hears himself say, and he’s screaming inside his skull.

“Steve,” Tony says, and he tilts his head up. His eyes close briefly, and all Steve can see is that long column of neck, ending in a v where the robe closes. 

“I lose time, Steve,” Tony says, and his voice is quiet in a way that’s almost a plea.

“I think we all do, sometimes,” Steve says, something uncomfortable and choking lodging in his rib cage. His therapist would want him to call someone who Tony trusts. His Accords liaison would want him to get the fuck out. Now. There isn’t a single person in this Compound who would approve of Steve standing there, watching the play of moonlight over Tony’s scared skin and the gentle brown waves of his hair. 

But Steve wants to stay. He wants to be that person for Tony one more time. Steve still remembers that day when-

 

-an EMP combined with an explosion had cost them the Iron Man suit. They had been fighting in the docks on the edge of New York. The suit had gone down in the river. 

“Iron Man, report!” Steve barked as soon as the debris faded away. He couldn’t see the suit. He couldn’t hear his voice.

“I saw him go down in the river!” Widow shouted.

“Run Jackrabbit!” Steve shouts as loud as he can. He motions for Thor to follow him while the rest played defensive to keep them away from their attempt to save Iron Man. For long, agonizing seconds, Steve guarded the shore and alternatively watched the water until Thor emerged with a fucked up Iron Man suit. The moment he dropped the metal coffin onto the concrete, Steve wriggled his fingers around a busted faceplate seam and pried the mask back. 

Tony wasn’t breathing. The Hulk’s war cry echoed overhead as Steve quickly felt along the thighs and lats for the emergency releases. The main body of the suit came away enough for Steve to pry him out of the rest of it.

At the last second, he remembered not to do normal chest compressions. Instead, he sealed up Tony’s nose first and breathed into his mouth. He carefully placed his hands on either side of the arc reactor and pressed as gently as he dared.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty, and Tony was coughing up bile and river water. Steve turned him on his side. That warmness that he usually carried with him is gone. Instead, he was just a shivering, civilian mess. 

Tony was so out of it that the he didn’t argue once. Not even when Steve took him to medical. He let Steve hold him and keep him close all afternoon. He let Steve put him to bed that evening, and he let Steve feed him. 

It was one of the only times in their entire history where Steve felt as needed and as wanted as he strove to be. 

 

-Tony, for once in his life, just let him care. 

Almost without conscious thought, Steve is moving forward, extending his hand. He knows what Tony needs. He needs to be fed, and he needs to go back to sleep. He needs to mourn, and he needs to move on.

There’s a few seconds where Tony looks between Steve and Steve’s hand. Tony seems lost in thought (like he’s always been) for a moment. Slowly, he lifts his broad, strong hand and lays it in Steve’s.

The moment they touch, Steve knows this was the wrong move. There’s a sick jerk of his stomach as Tony’s hand settles fully in his. Tony’s eyes close again.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” he murmurs.

“FRIDAY? Would you call-”

“I told her not to call Bruce. He hovers,” Tony says, and Steve has to wonder if he says this because he wants to see what Steve will do or if he doesn’t want Steve to waste time.

“Bucky, please?” There is no answer.

“I muted her,” Tony murmurs. 

“Why?” Steve asks. There’s an electric current running between the two of them.

“I needed it quiet.”

“It’s not quiet now,” Steve murmurs. He tries to take his hand back, but Tony just grips tighter, face going a little white.

“My bondmark is decaying. It talks to me. Poisons me. Bruce’s presence makes it louder.” Bucky appears between one moment and the next. He doesn’t move forward, but Steve slides closer by a step or two.

“What quiets it?” he murmurs.

“Nothing. You.”

“Why me?” Tony hates him on a good day, and actively plots his murder on a bad day. His eyes do another slow one-two blink.

“You have your own noise. It blocks out everything else. Your own smell, too. It helps me to forget.”

“Bucky smells a little like me, doesn’t he?” Steve says. He tugs Tony just a little further.

“Nicer. He makes me calm. Makes me. Makes me want to calm him.”

“Maybe if we get him, he’ll get you some juice.”

“I like juice. But not… processed. Pulpy. Unflittered. filtered. Good shit,” Tony says. They’re right in front of Bucky now, but Tony hasn’t seen him. His eyes are on the ground.

“Well I got Bucky for you. Maybe you guys should go to the kitchen.” Tony looks up then, and his eyes settle on Bucky at the same time Bucky tears his eyes away from Steve.

“Hey, Doll.” 

“Hey. I thought you were asleep,” Tony says. Bucky takes Tony’s free hand. He slides smoothly into Tony’s space and wraps his one arm around him.

“Want to go get some juice?”

“Yeah. Just… yeah. Let’s juice. Bye Steve.”

“Bye, Tony,” Steve says, and it’s a pain and a relief to let go of Tony’s hand. He heads towards Bruce’s room. He has a feeling this is a long way from over. 


	23. Breaking Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen and Bruce have to break Tony out of his own head.

Bruce shuffles into the kitchen, already in a foul mood over being woken up, and anxious over the news that Tony had silenced FRIDAY, wandered out of their room, and ran into Steve Fucking Rogers. The other alpha is currently looking like a fucking kicked puppy, so Bruce thinks that maybe he just got in over his head, but didn’t actually do something homicide worthy. 

“Tony,” Bruce says, and his voice is soft down. Tony is currently staring listlessly at a glass of his favorite brand of orange juice. He’s sitting in the protective embrace of James’ only arm. 

“Tony,” Bruce says again. Tony isn’t responding. He smells like a deep, choking anguish. Bruce shakes his head and pulls his phone out of his basketball shorts.

“Watch him,” he says to James, and leaves, taking Steve Rogers with him. Bruce gets on the phone as Steve flees the situation.

“Hello?” says a tired, sleep-deep voice from the other end of the line.

“I need your help.”

“With what?”

“It’s Tony. he isn’t grieving normally. I’m worried it’s some kind of magic.

“Goddammit. Yeah. Give me… I need to get up. Be there soon,” the voice says, and Bruce can here movement through the line.

“Thanks,” Bruce says, and hangs up. 

Fifteen minutes later, Bruce is bringing mugs of coffee in from the kitchen as Strange steps through, Loki with him. Thor joins them, though when he got the word that shit was going down, Bruce doesn’t know. 

Tony is still staring listlessly. Loki drifts over to Tony’s side, coffee in one hand, and slips the other arm around the man’s shoulders.

“Come back to us, Tony.” Tony takes a drink of his orange juice. 

“This is not normal,” Bruce says, voice low and worried as he stands with Strange, watching the three omegas. 

“No. You are correct in that.”

“So what do we do?”

“We try and figure out what’s going wrong.” Stephen moves forwards until he’s sitting across the table from Tony.

“Give me your hand, Stark,” he murmurs, eyes boring into Tony’s. Not that Tony is looking. Loki nudges one of Tony’s hands up and across the table. Stephen takes it, and also grips Bruce’s hand. 

“Hold him steady,” he murmurs, and pulls him and Bruce into Tony’s head. There’s nothing and then-

 

_ -screaming, unhindered and uncaring of any listening ears, rings out high and desperate across the _ place. This place, Bruce realizes after a few moments of absolute confusion is a lab.  Pieces of machinery that Bruce recognizes from Tony’s lab are destroyed. DUM-E, You, and Butterfingers are abandoned, rust ridden and sad as they try to clean things up. Everytime they clear one thing away, they either can’t find a trashcan/incinerator to dispose it in or something else falls over and needs picking up.

Bruce and Strange wander amongst the busted up worktables. Their chairs have been turned on their sides. Sometimes there are electronic devices, all in various stages of being destroyed. Other times, there are organs. A car battery. A heart. A collection of metal shards. Wires. A trough of water. Crushed reactors. Cracked ribs. Artificial sternums. A single, frosted-over shield.

The screaming gets louder as they go. The floor of the workshop is cracked. Holograms flicker with no discernable anchor. The ceiling is overgrown with mold, intercepted with spots where explosions or fires were set. Food wrappers litter the ground. Roaches skitter after crumbs. Snakes lurk in the engines of a once-beautiful row of cars, all ruined now. 

Spiders weave their giant webs between anything and everything. Little ones crawl about DUM-E’s struts. Bruce does his best to ignore all that. He leads Strange further into the lab, which extends more here than it does elsewhere, only to find Tony frantically trying to save a large, charcoal alien.

The heart of the creature is huge- ten chambers, in fact. It’s exposed to the air, his ribs pulled back and apart like wrapping paper as metal swims ever closer to it. Tony scrabbles and fights with each and every one of them to pick out a multitude of metal shards.

“Wake up! Please! Please don’t do this. I’m not Yinsen. I’m no good at this please don’t leavedon’tmakemedothisplease,” Tony screams and sobs as he keeps pulling out metal pieces, but the creature- Nix, Bruce knows- seems to replenish them on his own. Tony is covered in purple blood, and tears flow freely from his eyes. They soak into the surgical mask. His hair, cut short and shining with sweat, sways as he does. 

“Wake him up,” Stephen says as he gestures for Bruce to get on the other side of a table. When Bruce is in position, Stephen slides forwards, Locks his hnds around Tony’s shoulders, and bodily moves him away from Nix. 

“No! What are you doing!?” Tony yells out as Bruce rounds the table and kneels. He takes Tony’s face in his hands and kisses him gently, pressing a small, affectionate kiss to him as he makes Tony focus. 

“It’s time to come back, Tony,” Bruce says. “It’s time to come back.” He catches one of Tony’s hands in his and Tony just… loses it.

“NO!” He shrieks out in base terror and rage. He lunges forward, trying to keep going with the scalpels and tweezers. Trying to remove the shards. Bruce pulls back hard, keeping one hand captured in his. Strange gets ahold of the other and tugs that one down as well. They drag him back against his screaming and his struggling. 

They frog-march him as far away from the table as they can, and somehow get Tony secure, yet unable to move, between them.

“It’s over, Tony. You don’t need to try anymore. You don’t need to save him,” Bruce says. Tony’s shaking his head, sweaty, grimy hair swinging all around him.

“I can’t let him die. He’s all I have,” Tony sobs.

“I know,” Bruce responds, “and I promise there’s something else out there. Someone. Someone that loves you,” he says. It hurts him to hold Tony almost as much as it hurts Tony to not operate. The three of them hold their positions, even as Tony pushes against them. There’s snot and tears all over his handsome face. 

“There is more to life than this, Tony. Won’t you just take a look?” Bruce begs. At that last, powerful note of desperation, Tony slumps, still quietly sobbing, into Bruce’s arms. Stephen guards them, both from the dreamscape and from Tony’s tenuous grasp on himself. 

“Are you with me?” Bruce asks, and it might have been after a moment. It might have been after days. 

“I don’t know,” Tony says. Bruce glances around the workshop and sees so many things Tony would try to fix. The bots. His suits. The torture implements from a time that he won’t talk about with anyone. Nix is not the only hell waiting down here.

“Well… you don’t have to know, Tony. I just want you to hold on to me… and I want you to close your eyes,” Bruce says. He stands up and, always keeping in contact, picks Tony up as well. Bruce settles him down against his back, adjusts his grip, and flexes his toes.

“Eyes shut, Tony. Face in my shoulder, k?”

“Okay,” Tony agrees. He sounds so meek and so lost and so, so exhausted. 

The trek through Tony’s hell is a long, hard one. Evidently, they can’t just poof out. Not with Tony’s psyche in their hands and all around them. Stephen leads them past dead, dying and broken things. 

They pass his father in the study that was locked on the one and only time Tony ever brought Bruce to the mansion. Howard’s drinking with only half a head to drink with. The rest of it is mashed into his skull or leaking down around his face. He tilts his glass of amber liquid.

“Go away, brat,” he slurs. The original Edwin Jarvis is standing at his side, a worried expression on his face, a decanter in his hand, mouth half open as he attempts to say something. 

Much like before, Jarvis must keep quiet, or he will be replaced. His eyes, though, soulful and begging a little Tony to leave. He is clinging to the door jam, and Stephen knows without looking that this Tony’s eyes are filled with tears.  As they move by him, little Tony darts away. He goes straight into another room (this one is out of place; the kitchen, as Bruce remembers, is actually on the ground floor. The Study had been on the third floor, (as all the rest of the locked rooms were) where little Tony resumes shaking a dead body.

“Ana,” he sobs out, voice high and squeaky with childhood and fear and sadness, “you gotta wake up. Jarvis can’t come… don’tmakemedothisalone, Ana,” he sobs. Another figure passes the trio by.

“Tony,” the figure (Tony’s mother, by the looks of it), “stop bothering Ana. She is meant to be working right now. Come on and try this new suit on. We’re going to a charity event tonight,” Maria calls. Her voice is floaty; gauzy silk on a cool, comforting breeze. Her neck is twisted to one side.

“But mama-”

“Now, Tony,” Maria says, voice suddenly hard and unforgiving. Bruce didn’t realize Tony’s mother’s moods could change on a dime. Little Tony pushes himself up and, with one last look at Ana, whose face is grey, with sweat covering her exposed skin and her veins and eyes both bulging out, he follows his mother. 

They keep moving, and their Tony dutifully (exhaustedly) does not move his eyes from their resting place on Bruce’s trapezius the entire time. They pass other scenes. 

They pass the break-up between Tony and his old boyfriend, Tiberius Stone. Stone, big, blonde, beautiful, and mean, Tony’s old flame is bashing a macabre collage of bruises and blood onto Tony’s body. Based on muscle mass and build alone, Bruce would have to say that Tony must be young, with puberty only barely behind him.

They pass the moment when Tony tricks Sunset Baine into revealing herself as both a cheater and a corporate spy. There’s another scene where Tony’s just going through magazines, watching all his secrets, real and not, be embossed on front covers and double spreads. 

The first time Tony gets high is bad. The first time he visits his parents’ graves is worse.

They keep going, and going, and going. Through the twenty five or so years between when Tony took over the company. They go through the Afghanistan. Stane’s death. Pepper’s introduction to the violence of Iron Man. the nightmares. The anxiety that is not, as Bruce originally thought, a problem that was borne of post-Afghanistan struggles, but something that’s underlied his every move, his every action and reaction, since he was old enough to be diagnosed. He’s always been too proud to get a solution. 

They go through the Chitauri. Loki. Steve Rogers. Natasha Romanov. Palladium. Pepper. The Project Insight fallout. The Winter Soldier. Ultron. His split from the team. The team’s emotional split from him. The Accords, long before the others had even heard the name. Thaddeus Ross, pushing legislation that could gain him Hulk, with enough finagling. Rhodey, hating him. Vision, always distant. The Civil War. Siberia. His kidnapping. Every kidnapping.

Bruce tries not to watch, but he can’t help but see. His face is not hidden. He sees Tony’s introduction to the Colonial. How he was stripped of his clothing and his hair in ways that left cuts and abrasions on his skin. His hard learned lessons of how the ship works. The amount of times he had sex just to stay alive. The amount of times he killed to not have sex. 

His first meeting with Nix. His first encounter with Zane. His bleeding, raw lessons over the years that were carved into his skin. His intimate (and intimately painful) time in Nix’s bed. His miscarriages. The hell that was his heat. His withdrawal from drugs that had kept him functional for years and years. His one live birth. The death of his only baby boy. His meeting with Willow.  

The first time he hunted a runaway down. The first time he killed someone. The first time he offered death as opposed to recapture. The first time he cried over that decision. The first time he learned that Zane offers the same choice.

Every bad experience in his entire life. They aren’t organized chronologically, either. They’re mixed up. It’s a grab-bag of trauma; a menagerie that lasts seventeen years longer than it’s really supposed to. 

Finally, though, they make it to the cracked, moulding door of the mansion, push it open, and step into the wider world of endless chitauri, dying heroes. Dying children. Still, they keep going. Strange leads. Bruce follows. Tony hides his face and trembles and sobs because with each passing moment, he knows exactly what’s going on. 

There’s a little shed, far off the beaten path, that Strange leads them to. Bruce remembers seeing it in real life; there were a few dusty gardening implements. There were stacked wicker baskets. There was dust. There were faded memories from a time Tony used to play on his own and nothing else.

Strange pulls it open and-

 

They come apart with a gasp. Tony is just looking at them, the look in his eyes something wrecked. He smells like death and fear. Bruce doesn’t think about it. He just comes round the table and wraps Tony up in his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs as Tony, again, hides his face. Strange sits back in his chair, breathing harshly. A cool, familiar hand settles on his shoulder.

“Breathe, Strange. It will do you no good to fall unconscious now,” Loki murmurs. Thor watches, lost. Eventually, he goes to Tony, and helps Bruce carry him to bed. Tony sinks into the warm embrace of the god and tries not to think too deeply. 

Back in the kitchen, Strange eventually pulls himself out of his spiraling thoughts and tries to shake Loki’s hand off. The other mage refuses to let go. 

“Perhaps,” Loki says, tilting his head a bit, “we ought to see if Stark and Banner are amenable to bedmates tonight.” After a moment, in which Strange admits his complete inability to actually leave Tony alone (and god, when did that happen?), he nods his assent. 

Steve Rogers watches, alone and unacknowledged.


	24. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and co. pool their knowledge. Steve acts strangely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the update process went a little sideways, guys. Sorry if you saw anything that doesn't make sense. This is the correct chapter.

The morning finds the four of them asleep in Tony’s expansive bed. Bruce is wrapped around Tony’s back, Loki around Stephen’s. Their breaths are synced up, and for a while, nothing is wrong. And then Tony bolts straight up.

“Fucking shit,” he curses and hauls himself out of bed. 

“Tony? Where are you going, man?” Tony doesn’t answer, choosing instead to stalk to the bathroom. 

“The asshole fucking dies and he still has the fucking audacity,” he spits out as he attacks his hair with a squirt bottle, “to get in my fucking head and keep me there like I’m his fucking pet and-”

“Tony,” Bruce says from the doorway. Tony glances in the mirror to find Christine giving him a sympathetic look. And holding something that smells like heaven and looks like a gift. Friday must have called her. 

“My guy,” Christine drawls, “How about you drink this coffee and let me deal with that,” she says with a nod to Tony’s morning tangles. 

“In my head, Christine. In my head,” he grouses as he stalks to the bathroom closet and carries out the salon chair (because of course he has a salon chair in the closet). Christine hands him the mug as soon as he gets seated.

“Fuck that guy,” Christine says in solidarity.

“Fuck that guy,” Bruce repeats.

“And damn him to hell!” Loki agrees as he, too, drags himself into the room. He turns to Tony:

“Cabinet on the bottom and two to your left,” Tony responds without even looking. Loki kneels and- yes, there are the extra supplies. He pulls out a package of pre-prepared set of toiletries and attacks his morning breath.

“I think my conditioner should work on your hair. There’s face wash for sensitive and not-sensitive skin under there too,” Tony says. 

Loki gives an “mhph” around the toothbrush and continues on his own morning tangles. Strange walks into the bathroom, looks around, sees Tony’s pissy morning face and says:

“Fuck that guy,” too. He takes up the third sink and sets his personal toiletries on the counter. Evidently, he had prepared for this. Bruce goes to the fourth sink, where he just pulls his toothbrush out of the holder.

“Boss,” Friday says. Of late, she’s found no real need to speak just to fill up the time. If Boss has friends around, he’s often content to just be; before he went away, he was feverish with something at all times. Whether that is SI work, the Accords, the Exvengers, the New Avengers.

“Yes, baby girl,” Tony says.

“I have several people who requested to be awakened when you are. Those people are currently preparing to come and talk about last night. Colonel Rhodes just landed and he is on a warpath. Miss Potts has arrived with him. I have taken the liberty of ordering breakfast and having it sent to the Pack livingroom.

“Well, boys,” Christine says as she runs the brush down a long expanse of wavy brown hair, “It sounds like we should move the party.” Tony hops out of the chair and pulls on a sweatshirt before he and the other three bed-head ridden, cranky men made their way to the site of coffee and all the breakfast their entire group could eat. 

Tony smiles, slightly mollified by the sight of his pack eating the food he bought for them, even as he accepts the hasty, half-fearful checks over his entire person by both Rhodey and Pepper. He smiles as Bucky enters the room, his stump hidden by a shawl. 

Of all the people in the room, the heavy-weights in the food department are a toss-up between Loki, Thor, Stephen, Bucky, and Bruce. Bruce and Bucky both have trouble actually eating as much as they should. The dichotomy of their pasts and their presents seem to trigger an automatic “you’ve had enough” that isn’t real. 

“James. Bruce,” Tony says. He doesn’t even give a command. The two of them just sit with him while he puts more food than he could possibly eat on a plate. Periodically, he pushes a bagel or a piece of bacon on to Bruce’s and James’ plates, so that they’ll eat when they begin to slow. 

Rhodey, having realized that Tony is using the exact same trick that worked on him in college when he was lab-binging, subtly aides him. When a sufficient amount of food has been eaten by all parties, including the Asgardians (and goddamn, can they eat). Tony clears his throat, accepts his third cup of coffee, and Christine resumes doing his hair once more.

“Good morning,” he says to the room at large. Framed by both Bruce and James, Tony feels inexplicably safe. Even if Natasha has slunk in, as has Clint. He nods at Rhodey, indicating that they can stay. 

A chorus of mumbled “hey’s”, “good mornings”, and grunts greets him. Strange takes a sip of tea, takes a breath, and takes the floor.

“Some of you do not know this, but the previous Sorceress Supreme was constantly on guard against a being by the name of Dormammu. Not long before I became a sorcerer, pages of an ancient text to summon Dormammu were stolen by Kaecilius, a zealot and his followers. They believed that Dormammu was… would grant them power,” Strange says. 

“The long and the short of it is that the previous Sorceress Supreme was, in fact, using magic from Dormammu’s dimension to keep herself alive for centuries longer than she should be. After her death during the entire affair, I eventually broke the rules of reality in order to trap Dormammu in a few moments of time in order to force him to agree to stay away.

“Nix had the same sort of aura that Dormammu did. I don’t know if this is a coincidence, but I believe he may be searching for a way to get back here,” Stephen finishes. He takes a seat near Loki, to Thor’s irritation. That’s his brother, after all. 

“How is he being kept away?” Thor asks. 

“I trapped him in a time loop and let him get buck wild for as long as he wanted. When he accepted that he was never going to get what he wanted, I made him agree to stay away.”

“What were your exact words?” Loki asks.

“‘End your assault on the earth. Take your zealots, and never come back. Do it, and I’ll break the loop’,” Strange replies.

“Kaecilius may not be the first, yes?” Tony asks, cocking his head to the side. Steve has quietly slipped in.

“No, he’s not. There’s always one from every generation. As soon as the memory of the last gets old enough for us to begin to forget, well, the process starts again,” Stephen says. Loki nods.

“Not an uncommon occurrence, at least. Is Nix an old follower of Dormammu’s? Or do you think he is native to the dark dimension?”

“It would seem that he was rather distracted,” Strange muses. 

“Why do you think that?” Bruce asks.

“Someone dicks around for decades doing nothing but acquiring slaves when they likely had a job to do?”

“I don’t know,” Tony returns. “They look a lot like an army.”

“They are,” Zane says. She is sitting near Pepper, likely as attached to her as Happy is, on her other side. “It’s a culling from the instant Nix decides to buy someone. Most creatures have some sort of hair or hair substitute. That is cut all the way to the skin, and then you do your best to survive. 

“The longer you survive, the tougher you are, the longer your hair. The more power you have over those with shorter hair. When you first come in, it’s just keep surviving. By the time you have hair down to your chin, it’s about power,” Zane finishes.

“What did you do?” Clint asks. It’s hard to miss how both she and Tony have hair down to mid-thigh, though Zane’s is longer by two inches.

“I was the weapons master. And before that, I hunted down the runaways,” Zane responds. There’s a far away look in her cold, purple eyes. She meets Clint’s gaze.

“Then that was my job,” Tony interjects. 

“I see,” Thor murmurs. He seems to get this look in his eye, like maybe Tony is not what he originally thought. Loki presses up against Tony’s side and glares daggers at Thor.

“I suppose we could do an autopsy on him,” Tony says. Zane nods. 

“The more pressing issue, though, is the fact that an entire ship of slaves is rotating earth, right now, and their current owner,” Zane says with a hand extended towards Tony, “is down here. Away from them.

“Slavery is wrong,” Steve says. Tony laughs.

“You think I don’t know that, Captain? You think I want to be in charge of the health and wellbeing of four thousand strong and their fucking children? A year ago I was in the damn crabbucket and now I have to find a solution for this fucking mess with Thanos on his way and Dormammu trying to find his way back through and the last thing I want to do is own someone but you know what?” Tony says, seething now.

“You really want to know what? I don’t get to choose. I say no, and it’s a dogfight to work out who will be the new Captain, and then it’s whatever rules that guy sets. No exceptions. No workarounds. 

“So do not, for a single second, think that I want to do this, or that I need this. It’s better to remain the Captain and lay down new ground rules so that I’ll have the time and focus to deal with the biggest issue than it is to just be like ‘you’re free!’ try not to murder each other, but if you do, hey, there’s nothing to stop you,” Tony says. His scent’s gotten angrier and sadder. 

There truly is no winning, here.

“He is right. The best way to dismantle Nix’s stronghold is slowly, with great attention to detail and with a lot of time. Some of these people lived billions of lightyears away. Some of them have been gone from their homes for so long that their families have died out,” Zane says.

“We need to land the ship. Make sure they’re taken care of and won’t be in the way. Then we need to focus on Thanos and Dormammu,” Tony decides. The group nods along with him, agreeing to do things his way. 

 

...

 

Later, when the sun is gone down and Tony is coming up from his lab for a breather and some more coffee (he’s run out of grounds in his lab), Steve is already in the kitchen. Already watching him. Already pinning him down with his icy blue gaze that betrayed him more than anyone aboard the Collonial ever did-

“I wanted to say sorry,” Steve says.

“For what?”

“Doubting you earlier. I know this isn’t an easy position to be in,” Steve says. He doesn’t follow it up with a spiel about how much better he could be at this, or one about how he wished they didn’t have this mile-wide chasm between them. Instead, with a nod, he turns and leaves.

Meanwhile, Tony just stands there, confused and quiet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and concrit are accepted


	25. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang needs the council's approval to bring a ship full of refugees to earth. Natasha has an epiphany. Zane and Pepper are more alike than they thought.

There is a soft knock on the door to Tony’s room. Tony himself is sitting up in bed, pillows behind him so he can rest (at the insistence of various worrywarts) and work on his tablet at the same time. The area around him is filled with blue holograms. Loki is laying down next to him, back warmed by Tony’s thigh as he works on his own magic. Occasionally, Tony will reach down to run his fingers through Loki’s hair which is. Nice. It's all nice, right now.

“FRIDAY?” Tony asks. 

“Miss Zane is at the door, Boss.” 

Tony sighs. He tunnels the fingers of one hand into his hair and takes a moment to mourn the loss of a peaceful night with his pack members. He should have just gone to sleep like Bruce told him. 

Loki stiffens next to him, tension running through his wiry frame at the mention of Zane. 

“Easy,” Tony murmurs. At a half wave of his hand, the door unlocks. Zane see herself inside, posture as stuff as Tony's ever seen it. 

“Zane,” Tony greets. 

“Stark,” Zane answers.“What is it?” Tony asks.

“As lovely as being here is, someone has to go back to the ship and land it.” Loki, who had previously been watching Zane, sits up fully, throws an arm across Tony, and bares his teeth. 

“No.” 

Tony sets a hand against Loki’s arm.

“That can be arranged. Send Willow. She’s strong enough to hold her own, and I need you here,” Tony orders. Had he not been watching, he would have missed it. There is a slight waver, as though Zane does not want this to happen.

“She is strong, Zane. Stronger than me. Possibly stronger than you. She will live to tell the tale.”

“Many will have felt the Captain die. I worry that if the New Captain does not step onto that ship, then whoever does before him will be. Will fall.”

“Then send her with my mark. And a message from me.” 

The plan is solid, but Tony cannot shake the sense that he’s missing something. He holds out his hand.

“Come here.”

Like a man condemned Zane moves closer and lays her larger, rougher hand against Tony’s. With a gentle tug, he moves her onto the bed and into his space until their foreheads are pressed together, and the air they breathe is one. 

“I know the risk I run with her life, but I would not send her if I did not think she would do what I need done as efficiently and as bloodlessly as possible. There are problems on the horizon that need to be taken care of before I can think about the ship, otherwise I would go myself, yes?” Tony murmurs.

“I worry. I have always worried, but now…”

“There’s a chance to have your fears heard?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” Zane breathes, and it the confession flows from her like water, out of her lungs and into the warm, close air.

“We will go down to the armory and she can have her pick of anything she likes, but she must go, Zane,” Tony reasons. For a moment, the weight against him gets heavier, and then Zane is withdrawing, corralling her spine back into a straight, titanium gold line. 

“Very well, Captain,” Zane answers.

“Just Tony, please.”

 

… 

 

The lights are bright and trained on Tony. behind one shoulder, Bruce stands, quiet and real and Tony’s soon to be alpha. Behind the other, Thor stands, as a friend, expert on the subject at hand, and fellow pack lead. Tony can see Shuri on the bench, as well as Ross. despite knowing that he holds the only good solution to this giant clusterfuck, his stomach churns with his own anxiety and the stuff he can feel coming off Bruce. 

“You want to bring a bunch of murderous bastards to earth,” one of the councilmembers says, “and put the rest of us at risk while you run around playing monarch?”

“Oh, come on, now. Twisting my words, Ross?” Tony asks with a cock of his head. “No, I want to bring a bunch of enslaved refugees, some of which were taken from their homes so long ago that those planets do not exist anymore, to earth and begin the process of setting them free.”

“Why not just tell them they’re free to go?” someone else wonders. Tony’s eyes swing left, taking in the questioner and the amount of agreement.

“It’s a lot like getting out of an abusive relationship; without the right support network in place, they’ll either reestablish the hierarchy, this time without me in it, or they’ll find themselves in similar situations elsewhere. A lot of them will lose their lives over our ham handedness.”

“I don’t see how this is a problem for earth. We didn’t set this ship thing up,” a russian gentleman by the name of Albert Anatoly chimes in.

“Maybe not, but I am its new captain and I do have an obligation to them. And, honestly, we know from history that allowing tragedy to occur right before our eyes over what is and isn’t our responsibility just leaves to more lives lost,” Tony answers. 

Ezra Nowak nods her head in agreement.

“We have war to prepare for, and you want to coddle what sounds to me like the army of a slave-monger.”

“No. I want to give those whose freedom was stolen from them a chance to be free again. I realize that some of us here can’t empathize with that, but we already know that things like slavery and conditioning are bad and should not be tolerated. We can’t change what Nix did, of course,” Tony goes on, “but we can help those he left behind. Thank you,” he finishes. 

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Odinson, Mr. Banner, please withdraw from the room while the open debate is held.” 

The three of them take seats on the benches outside of the debate chamber, nervousness and anxiety ratcheting up. Tony lays his hand on top of Bruce’s in a pale attempt at comfort. The things Ross had done or tried to do to Bruce still hangs heavy on them both, and seeing him today was a punch to the gut, even if it was fully expected. 

At three hours, seventeen minutes, six seconds, the three of them are brought back inside. The house lead guides them to the center of the room before withdrawing to his own podium. 

“The council will now take a vote. Please cast your vote, limit one per person,” the house lead says. Small barriers rise up between the different seats in the council. The only person here today who will not vote is Tony, who is the one presenting, and Thor and Bruce, who are not on the council. 

After a tense ten minutes, the lead looks up from his computer screen. 

“Mr. Stark, your requests have been granted. YOu will have the full support of the council behind your endeavors,” the lead says, finally. Something like relief falls off of all three men, and Tony does his best not to grin too widely.

 

…

 

Natasha watches the sky outside of the compound. She knows there’s no way she could see the ship right now, but she looks anyways. When she thinks about those on the colonial, she’s reminded of her own childhood. 

Of the Red Room.

Dance lessons of death. 

The art of etiquette and expiring people.

Matrons who were there to weed out the weak, not teach them to be strong. 

She wonders what sort of matron Tony will make. 

She wonders if there is anyone up there left to save. 

She sees the pale alien- one of the ones who look human, striding across the lawn in the early evening light. 

Natasha feels out of control right now, like everything she feels just won’t stay pushed down. She’s not good with people. Real people with real relationships and genuine attachments to here, at least. But she knows about conditioning. She knows about home being a war that you’re never gonna win, no matter how hard or well you fight. You just come out scarred, and hope it’s the kind of scarring the generals like.  

Before she knows it, she’s pacing the distance between herself and Willow, and they stop three feet from each other.

“I want to help,” Natasha says. Something quivers in her chest at the admittance. “Please.”

 

…

 

“What was it like, up there?” Pepper asks. Of all the things she’s learned about Tony’s past ten years, she’s never gotten a clear picture of what really happened day-to-day aboard the ship. Zane turns her head to look at her. Pepper is at her desk, and Zane is sitting on the couch in her office, watching the sun go down.

“Strange. There were peaceful times, mostly, but it was like sleeping with a bomb under your head; you had to know when someone had set it to explode and get off the bed in time,” Zane answers. The answer sits between them for a while.

“Your tie is loose,” Pepper says to break the silence. She hates to think of the damage that must have done to Tony in particular and the rest of the Colonial as a whole. Zane’s suit- something she’d had to be fitted for since she was going to be Pepper’s shadow most of the time- is an immaculate black on black piece with a pale purple tie and pocket square.

“Ah,” Zane says as she fingers it. Pepper knows she’s not getting anymore work done today, so she gets up from her desk and comes around it.

“Come here,” she murmurs. Zane immediately stills as Pepper’s small, careful hands adjust the piece of fabric.

“You have fire in you,” Zane notes. Pepper blinks in surprise.

“I used to. I don’t anymore,” she responds.

“You still do. It’s just buried.” 

Zane reaches up to take Pepper’s hand and cradles it between her two giant palms. Pepper can’t help but be mesmerized as something that feels like power- strong and steady- courses just beneath Zane’s skin.

And then the tiniest flame blooms in Pepper’s palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's ya girl, White Rabbit's Clock. 
> 
> I know this is late, and I know it's frustrating when authors suddenly lose the ability to update when they say they will or even at all regularly, and I'm sorry. I just have a lot going on right now. 
> 
> I rolled my car on a highway early June (no, I was not hurt, but the car was kaput) and so I lost my ability to drive. In my particular city, that means that I've been losing at least two hours per day on the bus, if not more.
> 
> On top of that, my job has been going through a lot of changes, this semester got a hell of a lot harder than I thought it would be, and I am transferring to a new college in early summer of next year, which leaves me six months to plan my first move, find a job, and find a new apartment. I've had writer's block and art block like a bitch, I was having trouble getting my financial aid in, and it's been a slow season at my job, so I'm making less money for the same/more hours than before. 
> 
> So, yeah. I haven't had a lot of time to focus on breaking my writer's block. But, again, the situation still sucks, so from now on I will not be posting anything that is not 100% finished and ready to be shared. Updates for this fic will likely be sporadic, and I may be switching update days, since the school week is monday-thursday, and the work week is tuesday-sunday for me. 
> 
> either way, thank you for your patience, comments and constructive criticism is appreciated, and I will see you all when I can.


	26. Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony goes onto the colonial. it takes more out of his people than expected.  
> Edit: fixed some glaring spelling errors

The colonial lands on a cold, pale dawn. Tony is out back of the compound, standing ramrod straight. His hair is a soft wash of dark brown, tied back from his face, but otherwise arching all the way down his back, unfettered. He took special care of his eyeliner this morning, and made sure to wear all black.

On one side, Loki stands with him, new earrings in the shape of eight pointed stars gleam in each ear and a well tailored suit making her look just as sharp and deadly as his counterpart. Zane brackets him, a peculiar armor from another world making her look more severe than her own waterfall of straight black hair or the sharp jut of her nose.

On the other side, Bruce wears the matching necklace over a soft yellow shirt. Though he’d considered some kind of protection, he knows that Tony is protection enough, and if he isn’t, well, Hulk is. Still, he wonders, briefly, if the length of his hair will mark him less than the rest. Finally, taking up the end, is Thor, fellow pack lead, turned out nicely in his dress armor, and prepared to go to war over the health of their superpack.

There are others behind them, just waiting for Tony’s word. Rhodey and Pepper are both chomping at the bit to be out here. Strange’s stomach is all in knots over the idea of Loki injuring himself again. Steve Rogers never did see a threat he didn’t want to punch, and Bucky wants his omega back. Still, they remain.

The ship, pale and bulky, sits like a great spectre in the distance.

After a moment’s fortifying breath, Tony takes a step, then another, willing his legs to work. His face to remain blank. His trust in his pack-- his strongest leads and his co lead-- to hold true and firm.

It takes a while, but, eventually, they draw close enough to the ship. The door opens, and Willow stands there, the white insignia of the infirmary stark on her breast, welcoming them in.

“Call a shipwide meeting,” he tells Willow. “There is something I need to address.”

 

…

 

There are creatures shoulder to shoulder(s), stacked up to the nosebleeds, hanging from the ceiling, and spilling out into the hallway. Still there is not much room to stand, never mind sit. Even with the mothers and their children ordered to stay where they were at and watch the live feeds, it is hard going.

Tony knows he needs to make this quick.

HIs paltry, yet immeasurably stronger than they appear, group of five are the only ones on stage. Willow is just out of light and doing her best to control the temperature and soothe the added heat of thousands breathing together.

“We were never meant to live like this,” Tony says. He stands a few inches forwards from his group, and his eyes give a long sweep of the auditorium. “Trapped, like livestock. Put to the fight like gladiators. This is not our home!”

“Some of us have been gone so long we don’t have homes to return to,” he continues, warming to his subject, and taking another step away from the safety of his pack. “But the excrement responsible is dead, and with his death comes my own ascension. I am the new Captain, and I will not to continue on like this.”

“Were it up to me I would be preparing this ship for takeoff and charting a course to return you all to where you came from or, at the least, where you want to go. But it is not just me and there are bigger problems on the horizon than our collective slavery.”

“There is a being bent on wiping us all out named Thanos, as well as the one who sent Nix, who is probably betting on having an army several thousand strong,” Tony explains. He begins to gather his hair up, the wavy soft strands going easily into one hand. “I cannot make any promise that will last while those two are free and so I ask you, and it is a question,” he unsheathes a blade from his thigh and lifts it behind his head.

“Take care of yourselves, and each other, for a little while,” Tony begins to saw, and the mesmerized audience watches in dead silence, “From now on there will be punishments for the injuries of those you consider lesser than you. There will be no more cockfights. There will be no more rape.” The blade comes free with a final motion, and Tony lowers it to one side and holds his hair out to the other.

“Does anyone object?” he asks. His hand opens, and the hair falls in a plume of wavy brown. The remaining hair falls, wild around his shoulders. The floor is open to contenders now; those who feel the Captain is weak may speak out. A great being, made entirely out of rocks, jumps onto the stage. He’s several feet taller than Tony and has little chains of pebbles arching down from the crown of his head.

“You have no right to challenge this. It is our way of life now, no matter what it was before.”

“The Captain is dead,” Tony answers. His helmet folds up around his face, and his yellow of his smiley face flickers to life, “in challenge to me. I can do what I like.” A great, two pronged blade builds in one hand, and they attack.

The rock man tries to smash a fist down on Tony, but instead leaves dust on the stage. Tony darts around to his side and attacks where his arm is still extended. Instead of shoving the sword through the crack in his rocks and right into the meat of him, nanobots emerge and overflow, pinning him to the stage in a move that not even the ability to gather and incorporate more rocks at will can defeat.

“Yield,” Tony says. The rock man bares his teeth at him, the both of them remembering one dark night before Zane was put in charge of Tony. Tony kneels down next to his head.

“You can fight this, even after you’ve lost, but remember that I am not merciful because I have to be.” Tony lays one hand against the rock man’s face, but all the jerking in the world won’t move his head with the nanobots holding him down. Slowly, the hand moves upward, until the fingers are just slightly in the rock man’s mouth. If he could bite, the rock man would pulverize Tony's hand. “I am merciful because I want to be.”

“Yield,” the rock man says. Tony withdraws, then lets him up. He turns back towards the crowd.

“Anyone else?”

 

…

 

Three days and seventeen hours later, Tony emerges, still victorious, still Captain, from the ship. He crosses the threshold of the Compound and immediately goes into a video conference with the Accords committee.

“Well?” says Ross, the younger.

“Everything is under control. There is, for now, a stay of action.”

Ross and the rest of the committee nod their heads.

“Time for the real threat, then,” he says.

 

…

 

“I was worried about you,” Strange says the next time he sees Loki. The god had immediately gone from Tony’s side to the fridge to gouge himself on whatever food happened to be available. It had been hard to eat once those doors had closed. The sea of faces all ready to kill one another had reminded him too much of Thanos.

“Do not fret overmuch,” Loki answers when he gets a moment between chewing and swallowing. “There is hardly anything to worry about.”

A hand grasps his, and Loki spasms in an aborted flinch. Somehow, Strange had rounded the counter and grasped Loki’s hand before the demigod realized what happened.

“Let me cook for you. You’ve had a trying three days.”

“If anyone should be being seen to right now, it’s Stark,” Loki answers.

“He has his alpha, as well as a full cabal of pack members. You have snuck off alone,” Strange says. He pushes Loki down onto a stool, sets a package of strawberries in front of Loki, and digs out eggs.

“I am fine.”

“Clearly,” Strange murmurs. He is trying his best not to pick a fight right now, but he honestly just wants to yell at Loki until the god sits still and lets him do this.

“Truly,” Loki says. He gets up again to take the frying pan out of Strange’s hands. As he does so, one scarred palm cups his face. Loki looks up, heart stilling in apprehension.

“Let me do this,” Strange murmurs, and Loki is so tired. So tired of looking over his shoulder. So tired of going to sleep every night, scared that the thing in his head would come creeping back to life like an insidious plague. Scared that Thor would suddenly decide Loki needs to be reigned in again.

Anthony helps, mostly. He keeps Loki grounded in a true pack. One where he is not the only person with problems. Now, though, he needs his space, and the Omega Prime cannot provide it. Now, he feels strung out, and the warmth and shaking of Strange’s hands is enough to crumble him right into the other mage’s grasp.

Loki feels the gentle press of full lips on his forehead, and tilts his face up for a proper kiss.

“Not now,” Strange answers when they part once more. It’s too easy to get excited now, to abandon what little mind he has left and jump into bed with Strange until he stops feeling foreign in his own skin.

“I need to forget,” Loki insists. Strange locks him into a full body hug.

“You need rest. You’ve been too long without it, Loki. Give me a night. Let me help you be better. Then you can decide,” Strange says. Loki wants to deny on principal, but he feels as if he’s coming apart at the seams, and he doesn’t have the staying power to insist on anything.

So he lets Strange push him back onto the stool and hopes he hasn’t ruined everything with his need and his weakness.

 

…

 

“How is he?” Pepper asks. Zane turns away from the door. All the fight went out of Tony after he was assured of his pack’s safety by checking the security cameras. At that point, he’d allowed Zane to usher him into bed. Now, the omega is quickly falling asleep.

“Well enough,” Zane answers. The two women withdraw to the sitting room down the hall.

“I wanted to thank you,” Pepper says. She’s playing with the little flame Zane showed her how to make. It’s now about twice it’s original size, and it comes easier than it did before.

“For what?” Zane asks. Confusion slides across her smooth face.

“Looking out for Tony. He. He wouldn’t take me with him, but I’m glad he had you to keep him safe."

“Ah,” Zane answers. Like last time, she moves closer and takes Pepper’s hand in hers, feeding the fire and making it bigger, but still contained.

“He is something else,” Zane murmurs. “However much he was damaged from his time here, I am glad he knew you before all this. I think the knowledge that you and Rhodey were out there, somewhere, missing him, is the only thing that kept him alive, most days.”

“Oh?” Pepper looks away from the flame and sees there’s something soft in Zane’s gaze. Before she really knows what she’s doing, Pepper leans forward and places the tiniest of kisses on Zane’s lip.

“Yes,” Zane murmurs, before she kisses back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Concrit are appreciated.  
> Hey guys I write originaly works, and I was wondering how many of you would be interested in being a beta reader, if I were to ask? (Note: I don't have anything to beta read right now. I'm just wondering)
> 
> Instagram: gracesjournal19  
> Tumblr: whosefandomisitanyways and myheadisstillintheclouds  
> Facebook: Graces Journal.


	27. Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some months later, Thanos finally arrives. Steve and Tony reach a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning: Loki mentions being owned by Ebony Maw for a while, and while he doesn't come right out and say it, it's very clearly a nonconsensual, rapey relationship so please be aware that that is in the chapter.

True to predictions, Thanos arrives like a summertime monsoon- without warning, and with deadly, terrifying force. The alarms go off in every place they can. Firefighters spill into the streets to help policemen with evacuation duty. Military squadrons the world over spill out of their bases and hightail it to landing sites. Emergency numbers experience a massive influx of calls. Cars are abandoned in standstill traffic miles and miles long as people flee the cities.

In the compound, people suit up, quinjets dispatching left and right to the least protected areas of the world as a chitauri hoard, easily bigger than what Tony saw all those years ago, rains down on their heads. 

With many of the Colonial’s residents having been moved to the compound and some, whose temperament and mind weren’t quite as damaged as others, go out to help the first responders. 

“Are you ready?” Tony asks Loki. The mage nods, and the two men hold hands. The Smiley Face Armor wraps around Tony, and Loki fits his own helmet down over his head. 

“To the death?” Loki asks. He. He can do this, but he doesn’t want to do it alone. He knows it’s selfish- so selfish, just like his father always said- but Anthony is the only other person who will truly know what it is he’s going through.

“We’ll take them with us,” Tony answers. Though Loki can no longer see his face, Loki can still hear the smile in Tony’s voice. 

Together, they make their way to the skip. The majority of their people will take the colonial, split up into its five emergency fled ships, and try to knock the chitauri out before they reach earth. Loki and Tony, however, are the bait, and they have to be on their own, lest someone else die. 

“Tony!” Steve says, and the frayed string that ties them together glows and vibrates for a moment, pulling them closer together. Tony turns to look at Steve, and he feels something endlessly sad in his stomach. 

“I just. I just wanted to say that no matter how this ends-” 

And Tony is shaking his head, trying to curtail whatever Steve is going to say, because Tony already knows how this one goes.

“-I want to try. To be. I want to be pack again,” Steve pleads. Suddenly, Steve’s lack of aggression in their latter days and the peculiar feeling of always being watched clicks into place. Everything- the care Steve had taken when Tony was recovering from his stint aboard the colonial, his endless offer of being helpful- makes sense. It was all for this.

All for naught.

“I can’t,” Tony says. He puts another foot on the ramp, and Bruce places himself solidly between Steve and Tony. “I know you think this should work, but it won’t, and I can’t. I just can’t do this again, and certainly not now.”

Tony turns and finishes entering the skip. The door closes, and Loki pulls Tony into his arms. 

 

…

 

The skip is quiet. Compared to the chaos outside, Loki feels as though he’s sitting in a mausoleum. 

“Just get far enough for him to come to you,” Tony says from the shadows.

“Of course,” Loki answers.

“We’ll be there to catch you,” Strange interjects where he is on the comms. 

“Not likely, but it was good to know you. I am. I am honored,” Loki says as the din of the rocket begins to begins to cut out there com links. “I am honored,” he says, after their voices are gone, and he’s all alone in the sky. In the back, Loki can hear Tony’s voice and another, stranger one.

“You are not my servant,” the voice rumbles.

“No, I am not, but I know what you want,” Tony says. “I know you’re hungry.”

 

…

 

Five minutes out from Earth’s gravitational pull, the skip is hit. The lights flash red, and Loki does his best to keep control. With Tony out of sight again, Loki does the best he can to seal the breach in the hull with the external emergency sealants. After a while, the lights stop flashing, and Loki scrutinizes the 3D projection of the ships damage. It looks like they were hit in the storage bay. Loki climbs down from the flight bubble and into the main deck-

“Little one, you ran so far,” Thanos says. Loki whirls around, a knife materializing in each hand, heart jack-rabbiting in his chest. 

“I had to get away from you,” Loki admits, knowing he need only stall. He only has to stall. He only has to stall. He can do this.

“Why? I always took good care of you. I even tried to get you a mate, not that you accepted him. It doesn’t surprise me that you ran,” Thanos says with a shrug. He looks around at the flight bubble. “Children are often ungrateful.”

“He stole my mind. He put that thing in my head.” And Loki is trying to keep it together, but his voice is cracking around the weight of his memories. Around the cold touch of Ebony Maw, marking him in all the ways Loki hated-

“He’s here now. He’s quite resilient, I’ve found. Perhaps he may have you again, should you live to tell this tale.” Thanos gives Loki some semblance of a benevolent smile. Loki has no doubt he’d be maimed beyond belief, if her were to live through this. 

“I’d rather die,” Loki spits. His back is up, his body tense as a bow string and as ready to blow as bomb.

“That could be arranged, my dear, but he would be so… disappointed,” Thanos explains as he attacks. He goes straight for Loki’s throat, and the god dodges around him. Thanos’ head puts a dent in the stairs to the flight bubble when Loki trips him. 

It hardly seems to slow him down, though. Thanos whirls around in time to block a knife. 

“Are you hungry, Titan?” Loki snarls. He does not try to hold back the smell of his fear or the smell of his rage. He does not try to hold back the smell of the pain he never allowed himself to feel before. He attacks with a short spear, a quick jab-and-retreat rhythm keeping him moving and deadly in the small space. 

“Does a hole in your head drive you? Do you look for something that can fill it?” Loki asks, rage coloring his vision red because how dare he take anything from Loki? How dare he gift him like some animal?

“No, you foolish gnat,” Thanos grunts out. The titan, head nearly touching the ceiling, is in a space too small for him, fighting against a lithe and deadly opponent. “I am not ailed by such weak things,” he spits out as Loki’s spear pierces the muscle of his shoulder right next to his armor. 

“I am,” Loki says, and his voice is quiet. Soft like silk, and just as strong and able to choke.  “I would feast on your death.” Thanos jerks the spear out with one hand, the butt throwing Loki back into a wall. The sound of his breath being punched out of him makes nausea well up in Tony’s mouth.

“And I will feast on breaking you,” Thanos snarls out as he throws the spear and impales Loki to the ship. Tony can’t stay in hiding anymore, and he slips out from the shadows, the nanobots and his shadowy hounds working to wrap a hand around Thanos’ neck.

“Then go hungry,” Tony says. His mouth quirks up in a smile, and then he’s throwing Thanos backwards, into a hole in the universe. A hand made of stardust reaches back through, and the mask around Tony’s face retracts.

“Never again,” Tony says.

“One hardly needs to hunt for food when this one will do just fine,” the hand says. Tony reaches out and takes the hand. His shadows flow away from him, and Dormammu withdraws, full at last. The hole closes, and though the battle rages on outside the ship, the war is won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh lord, y'all. let me just tell you that the only reason this is being posted today is because yours truly is an idiot who showed up for a class that isn't starting until next Friday and therefore had six hours to kill. But that's besides the point. What is not beside the point is that we only have one chapter left: the epilogue, and after that I'm taking a break from posting. 
> 
> I'm doing better than I was the last update, but the new semester did just start, and I want to finish anything before I actually post it, so a hiatus is in order. I'll still be writing, I just won't be posting for a bit while I finish the story I've got planned out. 
> 
> Either way, please let me know what you think, I would love to hear your opinions, and both comments and constructive criticism is appreciated.


	28. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end

_ 12:17 a.m. Strange: Loki is not faring well.  _

 

Tony lays his head back down on Bruce’s chest, nuzzling close for a moment, before he sits back up to answer.

 

_ 12:18 a.m. Stark: Bring him through in ten, then. _

 

Bruce, never one to sleep heavy unless forced, wakes when Tony moves to get out of bed.

“What is it?” He asks, groggy and still tired from their earlier coupling.

“Go back to bed Brucie bear. It’s Loki again,”

“Does he—,” Bruce lets out a yawn so huge his jaw pops, “—need tea?”

“I know how to make it, Brucie-Bear. Go back to sleep,” Tony says. He throws on a silk robe that Pepper had gotten him after Bruce had teased him about not wanting to get dressed right after sex in front of her. 

Bruce had loved it, and Tony had retaliated by slipping Zane a bag of Pepper’s favorite chocolates. There was a flush on Pepper’s face the next day, and Tony doesn’t ever think he’d seen Zane look so smug. 

Tony blinks himself back to the present. Right. Loki. By the time the portal opens and Strange is guiding a blue, irate Loki through the portal, Tony is pulling the tea bags out and the cups and setting the tray down on the coffee table in the living room.

“I do not need your help, Stark,” Loki snarls, and Tony can see more of the caged animal in him than the trickster god ever lets through of his own accord. It must be the nightmares again. 

“Well I want tea, you’re here, I have my necklace, so drink tea,” Tony demands. With that, he plops down on the couch and imperiously beckons Loki over. If Tony had any doubts as to whether or not Loki really needed this, the way the other man melts against his Omega Prime soothes them away. After some time, when Strange has taken his own seat in the armchair nearest to them to keep watch, Tony reaches up and runs gentle fingers through Loki’s hair.

“How’s your stomach?” he murmurs. Loki, already halfway back to sleep, is only just awake enough to say “better” before he’s dropping off again. Tony closes his eyes as Loki bleeds back to white, and the frost pulls into his body. Strange drops a blanket over them both, and cloak settles down to keep watch.

“Maybe he should stay with you for a while. It is… easy… to lose one’s mind in the Sanctum,” Strange says.

“Only if you’ll visit. It does him no good to stay with me if he’s abandoned by you,” Tony answers. “In fact, you should stay here, too,” he says. Strange scoffs, but Tony would never ever pass up a chance to have more of his pack closer together. Not when one is so obviously still hurting from the battle a few weeks prior, and the other is drowning in all the ways they aren’t helping. Not when they buried so many not that long ago.

“It would help,” Tony murmurs into the soft darkness before he too, closes his eyes. Sometime before morning, Bruce joins them, and Cloak, ever present and ever awake, watches over them all. 

 

…

 

Steve Rogers closes down his Cell and slips it into one of the pockets in his pants. Pickup in three hours, and all he has to do is keep the acid this particular alien spits neutralized without hurting it. He gazes at the insignia on his dog tags:

 

**TF #17**

 

He and a handful of others hunt down alien related issues. Kidnappings, extraterrestrial terrorism, experiments, you name it, and he’s supposed to deal with it. It’s done quietly, discreetly, and as painlessly as possible. He is no killer. He can’t be that anymore. 

He is a wanderer, and he can keep the order without being in the spotlight. He thinks that’s what he was always meant to do, anyways. There’s something peaceful about this, despite the ache he gets sometimes when he thinks about Bucky and his alpha body and omega scent. Get the mission, subdue the target with minimal damage, minimal killing, call it in, wait for the pickup, then move on. 

He supposes that, one day, if the world is ending badly enough, and they truly need every hand on deck, he will make his reappearance. He supposes that, one day, the ice that never quite thawed around his soul will melt enough that he may want more than this. 

But for now, he has a mission, and he does not have politics. He has a clear chain of command, and he is not bothered by things that have nothing to do with him, nor is there anyone here to try and tell him how to do his job. 

For now, he is a Nomad, and he is at peace.

 

…

 

Steve has been gone for weeks, and Natasha is feeling the ache under her rib cage and in the back of her head. Of everyone in the compound, she is the only one who hasn’t settled. She feels exposed here, now. They know her. Know her habits. Her ways. Her patterns. 

They know her, and they do not want her. 

She hasn’t seen Tony in weeks, and when she does, he’s always accompanied by someone. It’s usually Bruce and Willow. They hit it off, and the two seem to be conspiring with FRIDAY against Tony’s poor self-care routines. They both watch her, even as Tony moves through the motions of his day, unaware of the tension between the three. 

It is worse when Zane is with them. Tony and Pepper seem to have regained their old level of friendship, which is to say: thick as thieves. As such, their chosen partners have also hit it off and are thick as thieves as well. 

Zane, fire-breathing demon that she is, will hover above the humans’ shoulders, not close enough to make them move away, but not far enough away they they could miss her presence. Her eyes bore into Natasha’s and the spy knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there would be no mercy, should Zane ever decide to pursue her.

Thor, as well, seems to view her as a fallen one. While the demi-god eventually accepted Clint back into his fold, he seems dead set on keeping Natasha away. Many of the aliens have formed peripheral packs around Tony and Thor’s super pack, and they all seem to hate her, as well. No one touches her, or attempts to hurt, scare, or otherwise haunt her. And yet.

She feels trapped. Pushed away. Alienated. Exposed. And she knows it’s time to go. 

It takes her some time, but eventually, Tony is alone in his office, and he lets Natasha come to him. 

“What do you want?” Tony asks. He is healthier now, skin a golden tan of days spent out in the sun, body stronger and physically younger than it ever was before. His hands though, Natasha would recognize his hands anywhere. They are still the rough, yet gentle hands of a mechanic and an engineer, capable of installing hardware bigger than he, but equally able to pull out a magnifying glass to work on a circuit board the size of his pinky nail. 

“A favor,” Natasha says, and she does not try to hide it. Does not try to pretend this is something other than what it truly is. 

“What favor could you possibly need from me?” Tony asks. His head tilts in curiosity, and Natasha realizes she can’t quite read him anymore. 

“I want to disappear, again.”

 

...

 

There is a woman sitting at a bus stop that no one has ever seen before. With any luck, no one ever will. 

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I wanted to thank everyone who's stuck it out through the scheduling fuckups and the writers block and everything else to get to the end :). As I mentioned last chapter this will be my last post for a while, but I'll still be working on new stories. 
> 
> As always, Comments and concrit are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Constructive Criticism are highly appreciated:)


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